


The Star in Star-Spangled

by vikinghel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Disorder, But Brief!, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Child Abandonment, Child Loss, Discussion of Disability and Illness, F/M, Family Drama, Fast and Loose Genetics, Food Issues, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hidden parentage, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Major Steve Rogers Feels, Minor Character Death, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD-like symptoms, Period-Typical Homophobia, SHIELD, Tags May Change, Trigger Warning: Child Abandonment, Trigger Warning: Child Without Food, Trigger Warning: Death of Parent(s), Trigger Warning: Food and Diet Issues, Trigger Warning: Grief, Trigger Warning: Loss of Adult Child, Trigger Warning: Miscarriage, Trigger Warning: minor PTSD, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2020-11-26 06:58:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 50,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20926040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vikinghel/pseuds/vikinghel
Summary: Jane Foster has been an oddity for all her life. So had her mother, and her grandmother. But her grandmother isn't who she knew it was. And her grandfather is another story who surely shouldn't have lived as long as he has, but then again he wasn't technically alive.Asgardian Princes, Dark Elves and the Aether really has nothing on the explosion that is about to come out of her family life, that has been in tatters for twenty years.***ATTENTION: due to the course of this story, it has been decided to change from T to M, as a key OC does die and the impact is hard on Steve Rogers. The angst is also very heavy, and though I had not intended for it be so heavy on the angst, to write as good a story as I could, it has gone that way. Apologies to those who don't feel they can read any further! It was much appreciated! Please watch the tags.***





	1. In The Beginning is Sarah-Jo

**Author's Note:**

> So this has taken me a long time to decide how to start. This chapter was finished Sunday, after being started on Friday, edited, meddled with etc several times since that Friday. If there are any triggers for you that I haven't mentioned, and think I should, please leave a comment and I'll add it to the tags. Every mistake you see is mine, but I would like to thank @survivor_reborn (who I made cry, and I am STILL sorry!) and @Sansa_of_Oldstones who read the first draft of this :D  
And apologies if this is honestly bad xD.  
I don't own Marvel etc etc I am just borrowing the characters!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this has taken me a long time to decide how to start. This chapter was finished Sunday, after being started on Friday, edited, meddled with etc several times since that Friday. If there are any triggers for you that I haven't mentioned, and think I should, please leave a comment and I'll add it to the tags. Every mistake you see is mine, but I would like to thank @survivor_reborn (who I made cry, and I am STILL sorry!) and @Sansa_of_Oldstones who read the first draft of this :D  
And apologies if this is honestly bad xD.  
I don't own Marvel etc I am just borrowing the characters!  
EDIT: Some alterations have been made, and edits to certain places for better reading/easier flow/I saw where I went wrong and had to change it - 01/11/2019  
EDIT 2: More alterations have been made. In fact a piece has been written because I really wasn't impressed with this.

** _November 1945_ **

The dawn of a November Wednesday, in a country cottage some forty miles outside of a still-dishevelled London, reeling from the end of a six year war, a young lady by the name of Emily Dennison set cups down on a table. It’s a heavy morning for many reasons; not only is there a thick blanket of snow outside that muffles any noise from the lane, but there’s a strange blanketing of sounds inside the cottage. The kettle had yet to whistle its completion, her husband is still abed and the milkman had already been around with the delivery earlier. Nobody from the closest village are out.

The other occupants of the house, though, are awake. Or one of them certainly is, and looking tearfully, sadly down at the other, last Emily saw.

Her old school-friend had been living with them for the last few months in preparation for this very day, one that was going to be hard for her friend. For Emily it would be the best moment in her life. She was deeply grateful and heartbroken for her friend; it was not going to be easy in any way, and it would have been a big ask had anyone else suggested it, but Maggie is a stalwart lady, and arrived at the decision before anybody could bring it up.

That did not remove the fact it was going to be painful.

It was the best for the child, that was all that mattered. The girl-child needed to be kept away from those who would seek to harm or to hurt her for who she was, who her parents were and, what she could come to do. At only two months old, there was no evidence of anything different about her; no illnesses, no injuries, no problems at all. She was a healthy child and it mattered that it remained that way, and it could never be known who she truly was. The outside world could never know.

That is where Emily came in.

She was never going to have children it seemed. Near ten years of marriage and three miscarriages later – each as devastating to her as the last – told her that there would be no child of her own. Thomas, her husband, had suggested taking in a child; after the war, there must have been so many children without parents.

Emily kept the letter close to her person. It was a very unexpected letter, and even now with the day upon them, she pulled it out to read again.

* * *

“_Dear Emily,_

_I hate to even be asking this of you, but I need your help. I have landed myself in a most unbelievable situation and for many reasons that I cannot completely divulge to you through letter – if at all and that may happen – I need to be certain that the ending is set._

_I have found myself in the family way. I know what you’re thinking, this is very unlike me and I know you **are **thinking that, dear Emmy.” _

Emily smiled sadly, thinking back that her friend knew her so well.

_“All I can say is I let my heart runaway with me for the first time in my life, and I do not regret it, but trust it to thrust me into this situation of all situations! He <strike>is</strike> _ _was a good man, and for that I don’t regret it. If things had been different, I do not expect I would have to write this letter to you._

_I know that you would be a good mother to the child, and because of the complicated nature of this situation, I know it is best that the child should not be wrapped up in it. For their sake. Not mine; I could not care less about any scandal, if I wasn’t who I was and in this occupation. But I am and it is neither settled nor safe enough for me to even consider raising the child, much as it pains me to say._

_I would be deeply grateful if you and Tom would raise the child as your own. I feel it would be best for both of us and I have always been so sad knowing of your losses, and I want you to have what you desire most. So if you could, would you consider it?_

_My love to you both,_

_Maggie.”_

Emily notes the scribble out of ‘is’ with a pang in her heart every time. She could not quite believe – though of course she wrote to agree – that Maggie even managed to land herself in so pitiful a situation.

That is, until early September, when Maggie appeared on her stoop, luggage in one hand and clearly pregnant.

“Sweet pea, how did this even happen?” Emily queried at the dinner table the very first evening. “This is…_so _unlike you I almost thought the letter a joke.”

“I thought so myself. But here I am,” she motioned airily about her, a faint, sad smile on her lips. “I truly want to thank you for doing this. I don’t-” her friend’s voice cracked, and Emily leant around the table to embrace her. “I know this is for the best. It has to be done, because I cannot give her the life she’ll need.”

They remained silent, eating roast dinners that held no real interest.

“Was he good to you?” Emily asked. “Tell me that he was, and that is was worth it.”

Maggie’s smile was beautiful, if a little mournful. “He was the best of men. He was such a gentleman, and if things had been different…he’d be so happy. But it is not and I am doing what’s needed.”

* * *

“Morning.”

Emily startles at the raspy voice. She looks to the doorway and sees Maggie closely holding the baby to her chest. Tiny arms flail under the blanket. Emily smiles wanly, and pours a second cup of tea out.

“I think I’ll be needing a drop of liquid courage in that," Maggie jokes, though her sorrow makes it fall rather flat.

“It’s for the best, Mags,” Emily whispers, “I’ll always tell you about her; what she does, where she goes. I wouldn’t want you excluded, it wouldn’t be right.” Maggie's eyes become watery again, and she looked to speak.

“No,” Emily warns sharply. “No, I will not hear of it. I will not leave you in the dark about her. It won’t be right. You shall be my sister, you her aunt and have every reason to know about her. I’ve no family to question it, Tom’s father is barely aware anymore and his sister rarely visits. I _will _be passing you off as my sister. I shan’t be hearing another word against it, do you hear me?”

Let it not be said that Mrs Emily Dennison was a pushover. Maggie ducks her head, knowing it was the better part of valour to leave the argument there. “Thank you.”

Emily nods once, a stern glint in her eyes. “What would you like to eat?”

* * *

The departure is bittersweet. Watching her friend march resolutely down the path broke Emily’s heart, because she knows there are tears pouring from her eyes and dripping down her cheeks. A smart gentleman in a bespoke suit had arrived half an hour before departure, driving an expensive car that most people hereabouts would never own in this lifetime.

He never actually says his name, and the cut of his figure somehow told her right away that he is American before he even speaks. He had walked in as though he owned the place, and jovially greeted them like they had been ‘old pals’ all their lives. Emily was sure an exasperated sigh left Maggie a few times but the American was charming.

A blank birth certificate had been laid out on the table with only the child’s name down. “I’d like it if you could keep the name. It would have meant a lot to him.” Maggie had asked, to which Emily readily agreed. If anyone queried it, then she had a few relatives she could mention as inspiration. All it needed were her and Tom’s signatures and to be filed at the registrar. They promised they’d do it later that same day, and it would be official.

Emily cradles the baby close to her, swaddled in a blue and pale red blanket, as she and Tom join Maggie and the American outside the front door.

“I have…I have a letter, I-” Maggie fumbles through her bag in some panic, desperately searching for the envelope. “I don’t know if...if you should ever let her have it…unless she asks, if she does, or someone says something. But, but I have it.”

Emily accepts it with a tremulous smile mirroring Maggie’s. “I’ll keep it safe.”

“Don’t give it if she never asks, or if nothing happens.”

“I promise.”

They watch Maggie approach the expensive looking car, no doubt in tears and pull away from their little cottage some forty miles from London.

“Well, Sarah-Jo, it’s just us now,” Emily whispers into the baby’s downy hair, and she presses a gentle kiss to the crown of her head.

* * *

** _Thirteen years later_ **

“Bloody _hell_, Sarah! Slow down!” Sarah-Jo Dennison ignores Alice as she speeds past, her mousy brown hair flashing behind her. She giggles, sprinting for the sweet shop around the corner from the school. Seeing her run everywhere isn't uncommon; everyone in school knows Sarah-Jo is an amazing runner, faster even than the boys, and she's stronger too.

She skids to a stop outside Mr Halfpenny’s shop, and skips inside. “Afternoon!” She cries cheerily with a bright smile. Mr Halfpenny nods to her, amused as she flutters about the jars.

“Not going for the humbugs today, Miss Sarah?”

She shakes her head. “No, but I’m thinking of those Drumsticks,” she stuffs her hand into the glass jar and pulls away at least seven of the sticky lollipops. “And perhaps a _few _humbugs.” The shopkeeper grins and turns to the jar, pours out a couple ounces, weighs them, and fills a paper bag.

“Careful of your teeth, missy.” He jokingly warns, but Sarah-Jo giggles as she hands over the money.

“Bye Mr Halfpenny!” She says with a wave. Dashing back out the door, she nearly bumps into Alice.

“Bloody hell, Sarah, do you do anything slowly?” The girl grumbles, righting her pigtails.

“Oh cheer up!” Sarah rummages between humbugs to grab her new sweets. “I have drumsticks.” The duo potter off the down the street towards their homes. Sarah-Jo and Alice live in the village of Hever – where Anne Boleyn lived at Hever Castle, which could be seen from their classroom window – and it was an easy walk to their houses right next door to each other.

They skip down the grassy path, following the stream and the curve of the road. At the junction they go left.

“Let’s sit up on the wall a bit,” Alice says, “and eat the sweets so your mum doesn’t find out.” They heave themselves onto the mossy wall, skirts and socks picking up every stain they could.

The trickle of the stream is pleasant, as is the fresh breeze wafting through the trees, but all is ruined by the arrival of two people neither Sarah-Jo nor Alice like. Norma Reed and Vivian Stanley - terrors and bullies - picked on Alice and Sarah-Jo incessantly.

“Oh look!” Norma cries nastily. “It’s little All-y Ball-y!” Alice hunches up her shoulders, and curls in on herself. “What are you doing down on _our _bridge, Ball-y?” Norma growls. “I can’t believe you come outside showing that face.”

“Why don’t you shut up?” Sarah-Jo hisses, shifting to glare at the girls. Norma and Vivian scoff.

“And what are _you _going to do? Yell at me? Tell me the error of my ways?” Norma scowls deeply, and crosses her arms over her chest.

“If that would work, yeah. But you’re not smart enough to understand me,” Sarah sasses, smirking, “I don’t want to make your brain fry.”

Norma turns a violent shade of red and sputters. Instead, Vivian steps up, “How dare you! Don’t you know how to speak to your betters?”

Sarah snorts, “If you were my betters, it’d be me where you are. Funny, then, that I’m here,” Sarah jumps to stand on the bridge wall, towering over all of them. “Get lost, nobody wants you here.”

“This is our bridge!” Norma screams.

“I thought trolls were meant to be _under _the bridge.”

Alice, Norma and Vivian’s jaws all drop in shock, though Alice was attempting not to smile. Vivian shrieks and dashes forward. “You little cow!” Her hands grasp the bottom of Sarah’s school jumper and yanks her off the wall.

The landing is hard and it dazes Sarah-Jo. Vivian’s strikes are uncoordinated, hitting about Sarah’s head, but she shoves the other girl away. Vivian falls onto her backside but is on her feet quickly, open palms slapping at Sarah’s head again.

Sarah ducks and rams her shoulder into Vivian’s stomach, knocking both of them down. Vivian rolls them over and with one solid punch, strikes Sarah in the nose. Blood spurts out, gushing red down her uniform.. Vivian smiles triumphantly, and sighs in satisfaction, “You best learn quickly, otherwise it’ll be worse next time.”

She and Norma snigger between each other but as they turn to walk on, Sarah staggers to her feet. Unflinchingly, she glares them down. Norma groans. “Don’t you ever stop?”

Sarah smiles, blood trickling between her teeth, fists up.

“_I can do this all day_.”

* * *

** _October 1964_ **

University is _scary_, that’s how Sarah-Jo sees it. But she could not wait to progress in her life. Sociology and history, her subjects of choice, are calling to her to learn more and more. The University College of London had been suggested to her by Aunt Maggie, who had also studied there before the war. Aunt Maggie was rarely wrong in Sarah-Jo’s opinion, so when the acceptance letter arrived, she was the third person to know. It was an odd phone call, not just because it was overseas to America, but that Maggie sounded oddly near tears.

There are so many people about the place, Sarah-Jo feels so dwarfed by the number of them, and by the city itself. She’d only been to London a handful of times, and had never there longer than a day. It was daunting to think this is where she'll live and work for the next three years. 

Her musing means she is not watching where she is going.

“Oh!”

“Crap!”

The person she bumps into is a thin man, with lanky arms he didn’t look like he’d ever grow into. His green eyes are kind behind wide-rimmed glasses and smiling as he picks himself off the floor. “Sorry.”

Sarah-Jo blushes a deep red. “N-no, sorry, it’s my fault,” she stutters, “I wasn’t concentrating.”

The young man chuckles, his grin wide and bright. “It’s no problem,” he adjusts his glasses on his nose, as though in contemplation. “I’m Malcolm, Malcolm Foster.” He offers a hand which she duly shakes.

“Sarah-Jo Dennison.”

His face goes blotchy as he flushes, “Would you…like to go grab something to eat?”

Sarah-Jo will admit, she’s never been taken by men. She’s liked them, found some handsome and interesting but never enough to ask them out. She wasn’t interested enough, but this man – in all his lankiness – is interested in _her _too. Aunt Maggie had always said to be sure the man has an interest in you and your life, and a good deal of respect, else he’ll not be good enough.

Malcolm Foster, older than her by five years, is working on his doctorate in theoretical astrophysics – an area of study increasing in importance with the focus on space travel – and had decided to do it in London just to travel Europe easier.

“What made you choose sociology and history?” He asks over a hot cup of tea in a pretty café, over a plate of chocolate cake.

“Well, in the last twenty years there’s been _so much _social change that it really needs to be looked at. Why has it happened? What were the triggers? How do young people view that time? How do we think we will view them in fifty years? It’s all so intriguing and whether people like it or not it’s gonna be a focal point for a long time.” She explained passionately. “For example, the creation of the Super-Solider Serum, and HYDRA. Captain America was essentially a _superhero, _something from stories or comics. He’s been dead for twenty years and he still lives on in the imaginations of young people today! What impact did he have socially, not just in warfare? What could he have impacted as we progressed into this non-wartime period? Would he have accepted what McCarthy’s doing? What would his opinions be on the feminist movement? How do they view him? Is he a conservative white man who hates any kind of change, or would he have been for the social revolutions that the end of the World War II – his major moment in history – brought about?”

Malcolm is smiling indulgently at her, and Sarah realises all that she’s said. “It’s refreshing to hear someone really be passionate about their interests. And surprising as it might be, considering my hard science focus, I agree with you. What are the implications of the super-soldier serum and Captain America? Where does that research lead and what will it uncover?

“I’m sure you’ll excel at everything you do.”

* * *

** _July 1968_ **

Life surely could not get any sweeter for Sarah-Jo Dennison. She’d graduated university at the top of her class, got engaged to be married and simply on top of the world.

Malcolm invites her over to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to meet his parents; it is her first trip to the States, and Sarah-Jo has so many ideas of what she’ll see and do. For the first week, it is all that and more. Pittsburgh is such a fabulous city, and truth be told, she could see herself living there with Malcolm.

Her second week did not start off as well as the first had. Monday greets her with torrential rain. Tuesday is incredibly windy. But Wednesday is glorious sunshine that invites her outside. His parents live not far from a delightful park with decorative benches, playgrounds and even a duck pond to add to the ambience. It was her first time exploring by herself. Malcolm had taken her to some conventions and rallies; she even signed up to speak at some. She never mentioned it to Malcolm, but she oddly felt like she was being watched. Being alone now in this park, however, made that feeling come back.

“Excuse me, are you Sarah Dennison?” The voice is deep and unexpected, startling Sarah-Jo out of her reverie. Upon looking up, she is face to face with a man. He has sandy hair, short and slicked back, with broad shoulder and a stocky body. His eyes are pale blue and icy, to the point it made it hard to look at him for too long. “Pardon me, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting to be recognised. I didn’t know my work had reached here,” she stutters nervously as the man invites himself to sit beside her on the bench, with barely any personal space.

“It has to a few places here. Anything to do with Captain America is gobbled up with what some might consider rapturous vigour,” the man comments lightly. “I’m working my way in politics, you may have heard of me, Alexander Pierce.” He holds his hand out, and Sarah is almost embarrassed to say she hadn’t. “Oh, that’s perfectly fine! Well, Sarah I have to say I was very intrigued by your commentary on Captain America. Why do you feel he’d be such a marvel and would move so easily with social reforms today?”

Sarah-Jo had not expected to be questioned on her work, yet she has a ready answer all the same. “He’s meant to stand up for what is right, no? Social reform and improvement for both genders, all sexualities, for people of colour and different religions is right.”

“Is he not a man of his time?” the gentleman presses.

“If he was still alive, this would likely _be _his time, wouldn’t it? So yes, he is a man of his time, if he was still here.”

This stumps Mr Pierce, and he becomes disgruntled. “He’s the symbol of America, isn’t that something to protect?”

“Social reform isn’t a danger, its progress. And if America cannot stand for that then he cannot be Captain America. Steve Rogers was chosen because he did the right thing, and I have no doubt he always would, whether or not he kept that shield,” Sarah-Jo stated calmly and full of assurance. The man regards her, peers at her with a sudden intensity that is unnerving.

“Freedom, then. Isn’t the price of freedom going to be too high someday?” he asks, glaring with his cold, icy eyes. Sarah-Jo stares right back, not to think but to unnerve _him_.

It seems to work, but by the look in his eye, he may have gleaned something from her, too.

“The price of freedom is high, and it always has been. Yet there are always those who are willing to pay it.”

* * *

_ **1970 - 1982** _

For over ten years, from the moment Sarah-Jo met Alexander Pierce she felt like she was always being watched. She could feel eyes on her at any given moment, even in the home she and Malcolm shared in a Pittsburgh suburb when they married. Regardless, she spoke out at conventions and rallies. She causes quite a stir in activism, taking almost worldwide. She gains many friends, but just as many enemies. 

Aunt Maggie is so proud; she writes Sarah-Jo often, telling her so. 

She was applauded by many, and hated by others. Numerous times, her car is damaged, her property wrecked, and her life threatened once or twice, but she never backed down, until a visit to Washington DC.

* * *

** _September 1978_ **

Sarah-Jo jumps into Maggie's arms when they see each other. "Oh, Maggie it's wonderful to see you!"

"And you, sweet pea! Shall we go to our regular place?" Peggy smiles widely. Sarah-Jo nods, links their arms, and they stroll down the street to a quaint restaurant they would always frequent when Sarah-Jo came to town.

"Tell me, how are things?" Peggy asks as she settled the serviette on her lap.

Sarah-Jo shrugs. "It's fine."

"Any more trouble?"

"A little; we had another cold-caller the other night. Mal knows it's from my work and I don't _think _he'd stop me, but..." Sarah-Jo sighs and plays the salt dispenser, "I think he might now. You know we're still hoping for kids, and he thinks this stress isn't helping, but I still wanna do it Maggie."

Peggy reaches across the table and takes her hand. "If he respects you enough, he'll say nothing more. Do you need me to have people look into it?"

"No, thank you, but no. This isn't really life or death stuff. It's just people trying to scare me and I'm not easily scared," she says and Peggy knows she means it. Looking at Sarah-Jo, she sees Steve in her adamant gaze, in how she holds herself in the face of an unknown enemy. Peggy's heart clenches.

They eat when their meals are brought out, and the conversation turns to happier things. They laugh, joke and enjoy their company and Sarah-Jo feels freer than she has in years. She glances out of the window to her right and what she sees tears her cheer away. Alexander Pierce. Dread surges through her as their eyes meet. The appraisal he gives her and Maggie makes her feel so cold, but she couldn't say why.

“Sarah? Sarah-Jo!” Fingers snap in front of her face. “Are you alright?” Aunt Maggie’s dark eyes are full of concern. “What’s wrong?” 

Sarah-Jo dismisses the concern. "Oh, it's nothing."

* * *

From then on, she knows someone is following her. Sometimes there is a man with a dark mask obscuring his face carrying a gun. Things move in their houses, items go missing then turn up in places that simply couldn't be. Malcolm ignores her worries, frustrated that she believed someone is watching her. Even when things in their house disappear, he still does not believe her. He says she is too nervy – which is true, her anxiety could run away from her – when she is certain she saw a man with a dark mask and scruffy brown hair when she was at a feminist rally, speaking in part about her work in sociology, on Captain America and freedoms people deserved. She's knows he points a gun at her, but the shot never came.

But when a man in a dark suit strolls past her doctor's office, Sarah-Jo calls her mother.

“Mum, I _know _someone is watching me!” she cries into the phone, her breathing fast and panicked, her nerves fraying by the minute. “Things have gone missing! It’s got worse since I saw Aunt Maggie in Washington, and I saw that man; Pierce remember? I told you about him. He was there! And oh my good, mum, he looked at us as though he'd figured something out!"

Emily is silent, unnaturally so in the face of the conversation. “When did you go to see her?”

“What does that matter? Since I went there, and that guy…he stared at me like he knew _something_ about me. And I saw him again in DC when I was with Maggie. God, he creeps me out.”

Two weeks later, an envelope arrives at her home. In writing she recognises, but still it worries her. In desperation, Sarah-Jo calls her mother again.

“It was for your safety, sweet pea. I did – _we _did – what we had to. And what’s happening is why.”

With shaking hands, Sarah-Jo reads the letter once.

Twice.

Three times.

For all that it explained, for all that she should feel betrayed, Sarah-Jo could not bring herself to feel it. Emily is so apologetic, but Sarah would hear none of it. “I am saying _nothing_ to her. No one will ever know, mum, do you hear? If I say anything, it could put all of us in danger. And I don’t want that. I love you.”

It calms down after that letter. Maggie comes to visit her rather than making the trip to DC. She is a little surprised when Sarah-Jo calls her 'Peggy' instead.

"It feels...better. _Right_." Sarah-Jo says, and Peggy wonders what has happened.

Sarah becomes a lecturer instead. Malcolm disagrees with her decision but it's final. Not long after, the feeling of eyes watching began to dissipate.

After nearly a decade of harassment that only got worse, for the first time in a long time, Sarah-Jo felt she could relax.

Which is a good thing, as her daughter is born a few months later.


	2. But it is Janey Foster Who Steals the Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As much as the beginning is Sarah-Jo, it's little Janey Foster who steals the show. And her life is full of tragedy, but what is to come over the horizon?  
Here is a selection of snap-shots of her first 33 years of life and all the hell that goes with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an edit of an edit of an edit several weeks in the making. 
> 
> Trigger warnings in the tags apply HERE.  
This is NOT a happy chapter, so if death of parents, parental abandonment issues, issues with lack of food and other related concerns are distressing/triggering for you, I advise you not read from '17th December 1991' until 'July 2012'. That will mean you miss most of that.  
Mentions of anxiety disorder - based around how I experience it - throughout, so give this chapter a miss if that's triggering.  
Again, if you feel I have missed any triggers, please comment so I can add it.  
EDIT: I forgot that in the first Thor film, Jane says 'Shield whoever they are,' So I had to edit some things around - 01/11/2019  
EDIT 2: Same as the last chapter, some alterations have been made again - 05/08/2020
> 
> I don't own these characters, I am just borrowing them.

Jane Elizabeth Foster doesn't come screaming into the world. She's premature by a month because she was in distress and her mom had signs of pre-eclampsia. That meant an emergency C-section was performed on 8th of May, 1982 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The newborn girl is transferred to the NICU because her lungs aren't fully developed, and it is expected she’ll be in there for a couple of weeks until she’s strong enough.

“She must be in a rush!” Her parents joke when, five days later, her lungs are perfect. Doctors are stumped at the progress, but her parents do not share the concern. Nothing more is said about the preemie baby that left within a week.

Jane Foster would be the only child of Malcolm and Sarah Josephine Foster. After a decade of trying, they had given up hope of kids, but Janey is their surprise baby. They dote on her.

* * *

Their family is small. Malcolm’s parents died almost a decade before Jane is born, and Sarah-Jo’s father passes away in July 1982, so only her mother, Emily, and an aunt is left to her.

Grandma Emily lives in Hever, a village in the county of Kent, a place Janey loves visiting in summertime. Emily has a sister, who she calls Maggie, but Janey _has_ to call her Aunt Peggy.

Janey doesn't understand _why_. Grandma Emily calls her Maggie, but mom calls her Peggy. Janey shrugs when nobody wants to explain, but she knows they have a strange relationship; her mom acts weird sometimes, Janey notices, and it's always around Aunt Peggy. Janey takes it in stride, accepts that this is just how family life is, and she believes it will be explained to her one day.

Her parents are exceptionally clever and busy people. Her mother is a lecturer in history and sociology, and had been a speaker at hundreds of feminist rallies, conventions and meetings on social reform. Her love of history captures little Janey’s precocious mind, and she adores reading her mother’s university work on the social impact of the Super-Solider Serum and Captain America, an actual superhero! For a time, Janey is obsessed with him, collects anything to do with Captain America, until another love comes to the fore from her father.

Malcolm Foster is an astrophysicist, and his interest in the stars passes on to little Janey. By the age of three she can name all the constellations, explain what a black hole is and how fast light travels, amongst other things. Jane wants to learn, and she has ability in everything. Geography, mathematics, literature – which surprises people – and history, if only to know how scientific theories were accepted, but she also enjoys learning about the super-solider serum, Dr Erskine and Captain America (because the obsession hadn’t _completely _disappeared).

Jane is a highly conscientious student, and her teachers praise her for it, especially in one so young. It is not any wonder that she's placed on the Gifted and Talented list in many subjects. Her parents applaud her, inundate her with presents when she receives perfect report cards. Jane’s work is _always_ perfect and she never has it any other way.

Though, it does mean that her perfectionism can be overwhelming; she stresses over school projects to the point her eczema breaks out all along her arms, and always she trembles with nerves.

“This can’t be good for her, Malcolm,” Sarah-Jo says worriedly, “her arms are red and sore!”

Malcolm sighs, “Our little girl is a genius, Sarah, and perfectionism comes with the territory. Stop worrying, you’re as bad as she is.”

For weeks, Jane comes home with eczema rashes that flare up during the day because she’s panicked about her work. Malcolm says she’ll grow out of it.

If only eczema is the worst of her worries. Fate decides to raise it's head for the first time.

* * *

** _August 1990_ **

Grandma Emily was _gone_.

Jane understands what death is, she knows it mean _not coming back_. But this didn’t happen to people she knew, right? Jane can’t believe it.

Grandma Emily would send her science fiction stories and films, like Star Wars, Star Trek, Back to the Future and Dinotopia. She gifted her books on the stars, planets and moons.

Janey is inconsolable.

“Why’d she go?” She bawls. She, her mom, dad and Aunt Peggy are in the living room of Emily’s cottage in Hever, with various friends she’d made over the years. Everyone glances sympathetically at the child, some offer her biscuits. Jane cuddles up under her father's arm, and shyly nibbles a custard cream. They were Grandma Emily's favourite.

* * *

“Come on Jane, your parents are waiting!” Aunt Peggy calls from the bottom of the stairwell. “We have to get into the cars, they’re here now.” Jane doesn’t respond, so Peggy takes it upon herself to retrieve her.

Jane can hear her aunt’s footsteps and each step sounds like a death knell, like in Macbeth, she thinks. This summon is to a hell she doesn’t want to go through. Not without Grandma Emily.

“Sweet pea, I know it’ll be hard, but we can’t leave you here.” Aunt Peggy says understandingly. “I don’t want to do this anymore than you.”

“I miss her. She sends me sweets and stars and space,” Jane sobs, “and I know it sounds bad, but who will be there to listen to me? She always let me write her about anything.”

Peggy’s frowns, and sets herself beside her crying niece. “I know my dear. It hurts to lose someone, and it changes lives. And you don’t want to. It’s entirely normal.” Peggy says, stroking her hand over Jane’s head. “She’d want you there, my dear.”

* * *

It’s at the funeral Jane _thinks_ the truth about Aunt Peggy is told to her. She overhears Grandma Emily’s friends refer to Peggy as Maggie jokingly, and of course, she remembers hearing Grandma Emily call her aunt 'Maggie'. Jane pipes up with a question:

“Why do they call you Peggy? Why do I? Why does Grandma Emily call you Maggie?”

Peggy is startled by her sneaky niece, and those around her wince at how Janey speaks of Emily as though she' still alive.

“Well, I allowed your grandma to call me Maggie,” Peggy begins, “your grandmother’s grandmother was called Peggy, and was a foul woman, so she didn’t like the name. So I let her call me Maggie, but only her.”

Some friends mumble in agreement. “That, and the fact you’re pretty important in DC, Peggy. The Strategic Scientific Reserve is pretty impressive a credential.”

Jane eyes bulge out her head in shock. “_You _worked as a scientist?”

"Well, an agent for the SSR."

"We have to do a project on a family member's job, can I do yours?"

Peggy and the friends chuckle at wide-eyed Jane. “What do you need to know?”

Jane comes to believe it’s even more important to call Peggy by her name now, because she's a former agent for the Strategic Scientific Reserve in the Second World War. And because names are important. Aunt Peggy instantly becomes a source of curiosity for Jane because while she is not a scientist, she is a smart, capable and independent woman. Jane knows she has found an even better icon to idolise than Captain America. She aspires to be just like Peggy Carter.

Peggy is a great comfort after Grandma Emily passes on, and Jane hoped it would last.

However, Fate wants to test Jane Elizabeth Foster even more.

* * *

** _30th November 1991_ **

The Saturday was going to be different, Jane knows. Her dad is at a conference in Phoenix, so he wasn't going to take her to her piano lessons. Instead, her mom is.

“C’mon Janey! We can make a day of it!” Sarah-Jo grins, eyes twinkling. “We don’t do them enough, and we really, really should!”

Their first stop is the theatre after the lesson. Jane decides to they need to see the newly released 'The Addams Family', and slurp some exceedingly blue slushies, that Sarah-Jo isn’t certain she wants to try. “It doesn’t look right, I wouldn’t normally go for the bright colours.” The sweet popcorn disappears in the first 30 minutes as they huddle in seats closest to the screen, giggling. For their dinner, Sarah-Jo takes Jane to her favourite Italian restaurant, where she and Malcolm would go for anniversaries.

“We really should start bringing you,” Sarah-Jo says, “but your dad didn’t think you’d like the food.”

“Yes I would!” Jane fakes her outrage. “I’ll make him think better of my taste in food!” They eat delicious carbonara and panna cotta with fresh strawberries to finish off. Jane can’t remember the last time she and her mom had such fun. They laugh, steal food, and just played about all evening. However, as the night drew in, Sarah-Jo sees Janey’s eyelids droop, her head sway and knows she needs to get her little star home.

* * *

From this moment, Jane has always wondered if they should have done something different. If she hadn’t been so tired because she’d been up most of the night reading an astronomy textbook, then perhaps they would have gone home later. Perhaps things would have gone differently, and she wouldn't have lost as much as she did.

* * *

Jane’s senses are foggy, but she distinctly hears the sound of twisting metal, the crunch and squeal of rubber, and being weightless. Her drowsy mind wonders if this is how astronauts feel before everything plummets back down. Glass shatters and rains down around her, slicing her skin and ripping her clothes. Jane feels her back against the door and hears glass tinkling in her hair. There is something wet on her face too and her left arm stings. She manages to get her knees under her to crawl to where her mother is, plaintively calling out but receives no response. As Jane pushes herself onto the driver’s seat, she sees her mother covered in blood.

Her last memory is of screaming.

“**_MOM!_**_”_

* * *

Jane awoke in a hospital bed; needles in her arm, a bandage around the other and one around her head. Her dad wasn’t there, her mom wasn't, but Aunt Peggy is.

“Ah!” She yelps, rousing Peggy from her nap. The crisp, soothing English accent calms Janey; coupled with a soft caress to her hair her panic dies away, and she drops back off to sleep.

For the next two days, it feels like Peggy never leaves her side. The greying hair, red lips, caring smile and soft voice is Jane’s safe space. Her gentle hands calm her like nothing else; many times Peggy cuddles up on the bed with Jane, stroking her hair and singing lullabies.

* * *

** _3rd December 1991_ **

“Ms Carter, we really are amazed by Jane’s recovery,” a doctor says on the evening of Jane’s discharge. Peggy’s hair stands on end, and a tightening begins around her heart.

“How so? isn’t it just her age?”

The doctor shakes his head. “There’s bouncing back, Ms Carter, then there’s Jane. The injury to her head should have scarred badly, but it’s much less than expected. There’s no evidence of any injury to her arm and the bruises should have taken a week!”

Peggy glares at the man, the vice around her heart compressing further. “I fail to see anything out of the ordinary. She’s always been a quick healer.”

“Ms Carter, this is unprecedented! I _can’t_ stress this enough. The attending physician to your niece, Mrs Foster, is also amazed. Her broken leg that needed pins? Not needed, nearly perfect. Her spleen doesn’t need removing, and her lung looks like it was never punctured,” the doctor rants, “this is _not_ normal.”

Peggy looks away in worry, and catches Janey watching them and her hand; the gash from the IV is already healing, the flesh pink with new growth. At that moment, Jane looks up and frowns at them. Peggy realises she hasn't hidden her worry, and maybe even fear.

“Unless her parents give permission for blood tests, I think I should just take Jane home.”

* * *

“Aunt Peggy.”

“Yes, sweet pea?”

Jane keeps quiet for a moment, thinking. “Is there something wrong with me?” The question startles Peggy and she nearly swerves the car in surprise.

“Now what makes you think that?” She asks, confused, as she peered into the rear-view mirror.

“That doctor, he said I healed really well.”

“You did,” Peggy assures her, “that isn’t a reason to be concerned. They probably thought it was worse than it was. Your mum was very quick at recovering as a girl. It’s entirely normal for you, sweet pea, so I wouldn’t worry.”

Jane says nothing for the rest of the journey, only speaking again when they pull into the driveway.

“But…_why_ can I pick up really heavy things? I can run really quickly too, but I hate phys. ed., so how does that work?” She practically falls out the car door when Peggy opens it. “Aunt Peggy, I shouldn’t be able to do those things! I shouldn’t be able to lift up the doors to the basement, I shouldn’t be able to throw the tennis ball as far as I do. Why can I see that far too? Nobody else can!” Janey begins to shake, her eyes are wide with fear. "There is something wrong, isn't there?"

“Jane! Janey, look at me!” Peggy holds Jane’s face, forcing her to stop. “Calm down. It won’t do you any good.”

“But…but why can I _do _those things, Aunt Peggy? I’ve never said anything because it’s crazy, right? It’s like...it’s like I’m too strong for my size. I’m only little.” The weepy, wobbly voice cuts through Peggy; her mind drifts back to another small person, resilient and brave, who more than grew into it. He had always been strong for his size, even if his body couldn't quite live up to it.

“Dear Jane, let me tell you of someone I knew. He was small as a young man; had been all his life. But he was strong, and always was, it was just his body didn’t quite keep up with him.”

Jane stares up at her with wide, mesmerising brown eyes. Peggy loves that they hold the same spark of determination his had done, even if they are her colour. “Who was he?”

“A soldier, and a…a friend,” Peggy’s voice cracks, “and he was very much like you. He was strong, and he was small. He grew into it, and so will you.” She presses a gentle kiss to Jane’s forehead. “Don’t panic, my love, this will all be over soon.”

* * *

** _5th December 1991_ **

Jane could not wait for her mother to come home!

Her recovery had been quick; the broken leg is perfect, so is her spleen and lung. She had called the day before to say she’d be back by midday. Peggy – with fumbling help from Jane – prepare a delicious lunch of roast beef, potatoes, an assortment of vegetables and gravy, because they all loved a roast dinner.

“Wash up, love. The car just pulled up!” Peggy calls upstairs. Moments later she smiles as stampeding feet thunder down the stairs.

“Really?!”

Peggy laughs, “Yes, now off you pop! To the sink you messy waif!” Jane dashes into the kitchen as Peggy turns to open the front door. Despite knowing Sarah-Jo had healed perfectly, it was still a shock to see her move with such ease. For a brief moment, Peggy could see _him _in her assured movements, in the bright smile and sparkling eyes. Sarah-Jo moved with the same strength and certainty he did, and Peggy felt her heart crack. '_I hope you are proud of her._'

“Thank you for looking after Janey, Peg,” Sarah-Jo embraces her aunt tightly.

“You know I enjoy being with her,” Peggy mumbles into Sarah’s shoulder. As they pull away, Sarah gives her a considering appraisal, as though she knew something; Peggy feels her heart thud awkwardly, ‘_Does she know who I am?_’

The moment dissipates when little Janey flies out the door and into her mother’s arms. “Mom!” To see and her their laughter pleases Peggy, so much so that tears comes to her eyes at the sight of mother and daughter together, hugging each other tightly and with such adoration in their eyes.

“Peg, Sarah, Jane! Over here!” Malcolm waves for their attention, and the moment they turn to him with smiles, a flash goes off and a photo is snapped.

It was to be one of the few last happy images captured of Jane’s childhood.

* * *

“Why on _earth _did you agree to that?” Peggy asks. Her eyes are dark and flinty with her anger; lesser men had been cowed by it. Aunt Peggy’s reaction to mom telling her she had let the doctor’s do a blood test was one full of anger and fear, the same fear Jane knew she had seen in her own hospital room when they left. She worriedly glances to her mom; Sarah-Jo is gaping in surprise, but she doesn't let her aunt's anger intimidate her.

“I thought it best. It’s not common to recover from serious injuries in a week. Malcolm and I agreed that it should be looked into. I fail to see your anger at this, Peggy.”

“You’ve never questioned it before now!” Peggy says. “Your broken nose, for example. Healed within two days, and you brushed it off like it was nothing! Oh, don’t think your mother didn’t mention that to me!” Peggy glares at Sarah-Jo, daring her to say something in response. “You have always been like this and you have always dismissed it. Why now?”

“Because of my _daughter_!”

The room falls silent. Jane’s eyes widen in fear. '_What? Peggy said I was normal! What does this have to do with me?!_'

Her father shoos her from the room, firmly saying ‘_out_’ when she didn't leave immediately. As she walks away and into the living room, she hears their voices getting louder. Jane huddles into her squishy bean-bag with a book on the Big Bang, and tries her best to ignore the shouting coming through the closed door.

“_Who are **you** to involve yourself? Stop acting like you’re her mother!_”

Her father's shout _hurts_. They make her feel so wrong; Peggy very much had been like a grandma to her and a mom to her own mother. Jane didn't know why her father was so mean. 

Silence permeates the entire house. A pin could have been dropped on the roof and everyone would have heard it land and roll. The kitchen door slams open and into the wall; Jane peers over the edge of her bean-bag to see Peggy storming away and out of the house entirely. Jane dashes to the window to wave goodbye and for the first time, she sees Aunt Peggy crying. When she spots Janey watching, she attempts a wave and smile, but both wobble.

In the kitchen, Sarah-Jo weakly chastises her husband, but Janey could hear him ranting. 

For the next few weeks, her mother says nothing about Peggy, but Jane wonders at the expression on her face. It is a look she hadn’t seen since grandma died: absolute devastation, like she’d lost her mother again.

Jane is reminded there’s something she’s missing.

* * *

** _17th December 1991 _ **

It is a wintry Tuesday in Pittsburgh.

Jane hears Michael Jackson’s ‘_Black or White’_ playing in her father’s study as she passes the door. She smiles, thinking about her mother dancing to it with her that morning.

She continues down the hallway, and espies the most recent photograph on the wall: her, mom and Aunt Peggy when mom came home from the hospital. Jane felt a wave of sadness fall over her. The lunch they had prepared with such love went to waste only an hour after that photo was taken.

Peggy hadn’t called since then, and her mom hadn’t mentioned her either. Idly, Janey wonders where her mother is. She should have come home already from shopping.

‘_Maybe she’s buying me presents!_’ Janey thinks. Happy with the prospect, she skips down the hall to read some more about wormholes.

Sarah-Jo doesn’t turn up that evening, and she isn’t home by the next morning. She wasn’t to be gone this long, Janey thinks. Her mind jumps into full gear, thinking up all sorts of scenarios and dread courses through her veins – though she often feels like that, so Jane tries to ignore it – as her father leaves. He goes to the police station to explain what’s happened, gives a statement and the police begin their search.

'_She was only shopping_,' Jane thinks, '_she’s meant to be home_.'

* * *

‘_A Pittsburgh woman, 46-year-old Sarah-Jo Foster, was last seen in her home on the morning of the 17th December. She left the family home to run errands at 10 am and did not return home, nor has she contacted any friends or family since. Her husband, Dr Malcolm Foster, reported her missing early yesterday morning. Any witnesses are asked to come forward as police begin their investigation. She leaves behind her husband and her nine-year-old daughter, Jane.’_

* * *

Her father grows distant and moody; Jane doesn’t know how he’s going to react, so she does her best to keep the house clean like her mom does. She tries to comfort him, tries to make him remember she’s there and can help.

“Not now, Jane!” he snaps.

He snaps at her a lot, and when he does Jane often runs off to her room. Her feelings of dread never goes and her nerves don’t improve when her father turns angry and sad in bouts. The waiting and the guessing sets her on edge, and there isn’t anyone there to help.

Christmas Day comes and goes.

No Christmas meal is cooked and eaten. Jane opens up the few presents tagged for her under the tree. She can’t help but feel forgotten, yet the lack of presents remind her that her mom never finished all the Christmas shopping. For the first time, Jane cries, silently. Her dad is huddled away in his study and Jane hasn’t seen him in days, and mom isn’t here but she _should _be. She starts to feel so lonely, and makes her anxiety worse. She can't cook either, and there wasn't much left in the kitchen she could eat; she soon decides she _has _to call Peggy.

“_Mom’s missing and we don’t know where she is! Dad won’t come out of his office, and there’s not much food left. I’m too scared to go out, and I don’t know what to do! Can you come?”_

_“I’ll be right there.” _

Peggy’s voice is stony, empty and Jane wonders if she did the right thing.

Peggy arrives a day and a half after the call on the 28th. Her face is hard, back straight and her dark eyes glimmer dangerously. She carries grocery bags in her arms, and Jane can’t help but cry and fall into her aunt once she put them down, weeping out all that had happened. Peggy stalks into Malcolm’s office, her anger righteous as she dresses him down for not telling her and for abandoning his daughter.

He can’t bear to look at Jane as he goes for a proper shower and sleep for the first time since her mother went missing. Peggy cooks the Christmas dinner Jane didn’t get and gives her presents. Jane has never felt more grateful to have her Aunt Peggy. She distracts Jane, plays games, takes her for walks and reads with her.

It doesn’t last.

* * *

** _January 1st 1992 _ **

A Wednesday.

It may be the first day of a new year, but the Foster family did nothing to bring it in. Jane and Peggy had fallen asleep in the guestroom, like they had since Peggy arrived, and Malcolm remained awake all night in his study. He sits rigidly in his easy chair beside the fireplace, staring into space. Peggy sits on the sofa reading and Jane sits at her feet playing with a movable model of the solar system. The hours pass agonisingly slowly, but by 2:35 pm, the doorbell rings.

They all freeze.

With a steadiness that belied her unease, Peggy stands and heads for the door. As she opens it, it reveals two police officers on the other side. She allows them in and they remove their hats.

“I’m afraid Sarah Foster has been found, and she's been confirmed deceased at the scene.”

“Where?” Peggy manages to ask.

“On a beach in Maine.”

“How?”

“Shot we believe, ma’am, further investigation will confirm later.”

Malcolm staggers back into the chair. Peggy grips the door handle so tightly that her knuckles turn white. Jane hears blood rushing to her head, her breathing becomes shallow and rapid. The room starts to swirl. “_Jane!_”

* * *

‘_A sad end to the local missing woman’s case. Sarah-Jo Foster, 46, of Pittsburgh, went missing sometime on the 17th December. She was reported missing on the 18th by her husband after failing to come home, contact friends or family. Yesterday, authorities revealed that a body found on a beach in Maine is that of Sarah-Jo. The autopsy concluded that she was shot, execution style. Police in the St George area have speculated it was a professional hit as no residents or visitors saw anything or anyone suspicious. Authorities are asking for any witnesses to come forward. Our thoughts are with her husband, Dr Malcolm Foster, and their nine-year-old daughter, Jane._’

* * *

Their neighbour holds a vigil for Sarah-Jo, which Peggy and Jane attend. People she doesn’t know extend their sympathies, pat her sadly on the head or shoulder, but she doesn’t react. Her brain is running on emergency services since she cried her eyes out. She just wants it to _stop_. Her father doesn’t cry; instead he isolates himself even more, until it boils up.

The funeral is sombre and attended by what seems like hundreds of people. Jane barely knows whats happening until they get home. Not even fifteen minutes pass; Peggy begins tidying away their dishes from breakfast, and Malcolm Foster breaks.

“You have _connections_! You _know_ people who could have helped! You’re part of the world’s best agency and you _couldn’t find her?!”_

The dish in Peggy's hand smashes to the floor, and Janey watches her entire face drain of colour. Her eyes are glazed with tears. “I have been making certain your daughter was fed, I have had little time-”

“I want you _gone_. I do not want you here. You need to leave, _now!_”

Peggy leaves.

* * *

Life becomes a blur for Jane, but it goes on.

They move from Pittsburgh to Parkersberg, West Virginia the year after her mother’s passing. Her father had taken a position at Culver in theoretical astrophysics; living there is better for work, he says, but really it’s to escape the haunting memory of her mother, and Janes knows that, he knows she knows that. 

School there continues like school back in Pittsburgh: easy but lonely. Jane’s peers either don’t appreciate her interests and those that would are mostly boys who do not like a girl in their midst. It doesn’t deter her; the perfectionism and conscientiousness in her push her to excel in everything, all the while her nerves are hidden a spectre that jumps out at her at random times. She joins physics club, chemistry club and debate, lands on the Honour Roll and graduates two years early for her efforts at sixteen. She says nothing about the times she could barely think straight and all she could do is panic.

Malcolm doesn’t even react, nor does he attend her graduation.

She’s accepted into Culver on a prestigious scholarship and pushes herself to be the best she can be, to prove to her male peers and to her father that she is capable. She hardly sleeps from the need to get everything correct: citations, references, formatting. Everything is exact and damn what stress it puts on her; if she doesn’t then she can’t rest. She doesn’t want to fail this, nor fail her father, so she considers it an advantage that she doesn't need much sleep.

She graduates at the top of her class and her father manages to spare the time to attend her graduation instead of working. He doesn't linger for photographs and Jane doesn't really have any friends to take any with. There is Dr Erik Selvig, though. He works with her father, and takes Jane on as a graduate student; the photograph is kind of expected. She heads right into a graduate programme, and she finally lets herself think that things will be all right.

Fate has other ideas.

* * *

The happiness of starting her graduate programme is soon overshadowed by loss.

The first six months of her graduate programme sail by smoothly, her work is superb, and things in life appear to be recovering.

That is, until the 23rd March, 2003.

Never let it be said Malcolm Foster was not a hard worker; in fact his focus on work and nothing else often stressed him out for years. That and poor health overall led to him suffering a massive heart attack at 62.

Janey flounders at the news. Despite his isolation and ignoring her, he was _in _the world, thereby meaning she wasn't _alone_-alone. His death, though, just provides a stark realisation of how lonely her life was going to be. Regardless, her work remains outstanding; she never lets on just how much his death impacts her. Soon enough, a hollow acceptance creeps in; some call her emotionless response cold, but they are not her.

She moves forward as best as she knows how.

By working.

* * *

Her doctoral thesis produces some truly fantastic work; her theories have credibility, this she is certain of, but it seems the boys’ club that is astrophysics are not. She'd worked so damn hard that her stress and nerves led to so many panic attacks. She never said a thing about them. It would have made her seem weaker in their eyes. Erik suspected, but he kept quiet. Jane was not about to let these assholes get the better of her.

Jane is aware many are shocked that she – a woman – has such an interest in the stars. Why not biology, or perhaps even sociology? Why a _hard science_? It is never outright said ‘_this is not for you, Miss Foster_’ but she can hear what is not being said by the witless dickwads that are the professors of astrophysics at college. They accept her work. If they hadn’t, it would have caused an uproar across the entire campus, which no university would want to suffer. After five years of doctoral study, at the age of 26, she becomes _Doctor Jane Foster_.

From then, she's provided the smallest of research grants and figuratively kicked off campus. No self-respecting student wants to be affiliated with as brilliant but as mad a mind as Dr Jane Foster. Chasing storms to gather data for wormholes of all things, messing with Einstein’s work as they see it. She has no respect for astrophysics and the wider scientific community according to the same old asshole who said her theories were ‘_the frivolous and flighty ideas of the female mind’_.

The anxiety worsens, the dread follows, but she keeps working – sometimes sleeping – out of the back of her old Jeeps and Land Rovers. A proper sleep and eat schedule becomes a thing of the past. Not that her body has needed much of that.

* * *

Time passes, her thirtieth birthday is getting closer and she spends her days chasing anomalies in New Mexico. Erik comes in and out of her life, a bright light in a sea of quiet dark. She sends out for another intern and finally a student applies for it. A political science major in need of hard science credits, but Jane couldn’t be picky. She’s needed an intern for years, and never more so than in the last few months prior to one Darcy Lewis coming along.

Darcy is a whirlwind to Jane; she doesn't know how to deal with it. Kids in school had never understood her interests, so she kept her own company. That was compounded by her mother’s death, then moving and just never being able to make friends easily. However, cheery Darcy could weasel her way into anyone’s good graces and though Jane tries to remain aloof and professional, she soon finds her first best friend at 29. The young woman is tremendous at organising, reminding her to eat, and cheering her up through the day with silly jokes or happy music. Numerous times they have been found poorly imitating swing dances, singing to _Grease _at the top of their lungs and drinking under the stars.

Jane's nerves and stress lessen, she realises, after Darcy comes into her life. For the first time in a long time, she begins to truly feel good again.

Fate still couldn’t quite leave her alone.

* * *

_**September **_**_2011_**

She, Darcy and Erik roam across New Mexico, only to hit a crazy guy in the desert.

_As you do._

"_Do me a favour and don't be dead._" She pleads, rushing over to his prone form. He, thankfully, takes a deep breath in, stands and _then _it looks like there might be more wrong with him than can bee seen.

He shout _"Hammer!" _at the sky. Then he shouts _"Heimdall!" _over and over again. Then he proceeds to ask for which _realm _he's in (who says _realm_? _Who_?) and just scaring the hell out of them. That is, until Darcy panics and tazed him. They leave him at the local hospital (that she and Darcy helped put him in, because car and taser, but _never mind that_).

They think that's the last they'll see of him, until Darcy motions her to the new images. Jane realises he might actually have answers to her questions. They attempt a retrieval from the hospital only to discover he has removed himself from the premises.

She promptly hits him with her car – _again_ – and takes him to their HQ, an old car sales place so he could clean up and eat with them. As he's dressing in left over clothes that belonged to Donald, Darcy's off hand comment about good-looking homeless guys makes Jane _notice _him; she can't help but become flustered in his presence.

He is…_impressive_, physically speaking but it is the ethereal sheen to his blue eyes that both intrigues and makes her wary; Jane has no real idea what to do with the feelings. Guys in the past never really took interest in her, nor she in them, aside from Donald and look how well that turned out. She tells herself this one fascinates her because he has answers she requires for her research, and she feels guilty for hitting him with her car twice when he clearly needs a place to stay. But he still insisted he was called _Thor_.

* * *

Erik doesn’t like it.

“_These are stories I grew up with as a child,_” he says, and Jane knows what he’s thinking. She promises not to do anything stupid with a man declaring he is Thor, smashing coffee cups as he demands: “_Another!_”

She listens to Erik, and tells 'Thor' she can't take him.

"_Then this is where we say goodbye_," he takes her hand and presses a gentile kiss to her knuckles, like some gallant hero. She giggles her thanks to him with rosy cheeks. Darcy curtsies jauntily with a hilariously wide and dizzy grin.

As they part ways and return to their base, assholes in black boots - apparently called SHIELD - turn up and they just _ruin her day, damn it_.

_“This is my life!” _She cries, surging into the open space, aghast that her own government had just waltzed in with the intent to abscond with everything (including Darcy’s iPod, can’t forget that). Some guy called Coulson in a smart suit says they are the ‘good guys’, but his smirk told Jane he wasn't at all sympathetic to her position. Being part of SHIELD meant nothing; a villain would at least have more of a real reason to steal her work, but these assholes come along, declare they’re ‘good’ and steal her work.

As they sit on the roof of their building, Peggy comes to mind for the first time in years. Jane doubts this is what her aunt worked for back when she was part of the government: thugs stealing from hard working researchers as though they were guilty of something.

* * *

In her desperation to get her work back, she goes against Erik’s advice and helps the crazy guy who calls himself Thor. They develop a half-cocked plan to steal his hammer and her work back from SHIELD.

She’s taken by his sincere smile; it makes her stomach twist oddly, in a way even Donald never achieved.

“_I’ve never done anything like this before,” _she turns to him, “_have you ever done anything like this before?”_

_“Many times. You’re brave to do it.”_

_“Well, they’ve just stole my entire life’s work; I don’t really have much left to lose,”_ she says, glaring out at the sand before them.

“_You’re clever. Far more clever than anyone else in this realm_.”

His smile makes it feel genuine, that and the magical glint in his eyes tell her it is, whether he is Thor or not. He tells her she seeks a rainbow bridge, a Bifrost, that his people use to travel between realms. It all seems too unreal.

“_God, I hope you’re not crazy.”_

* * *

“_Hi Erik, it’s me. Don’t worry, I’m fine, but just in case you don’t hear from me in the next hour, just come by the crater site and try and find me. I did **exactly **what you told me not to.”_

* * *

She argues with Erik, and Darcy backs her up. He is quite likely the real deal; he _is_ Thor. And they have left an actual _God _with powers, with the United States government who have also stolen her work. 

Amateur hacker Darcy attempts to make a fake ID, and Erik slips into the lion's den and claims him as Donald Blake, MD.

‘Donald’ manages to grab her notebook, and now she doesn’t have to start from scratch. They share a magical evening on the roof of her building, and his way of explaining things is so extraordinary that even Jane – hard-core believer of hard science – is enthralled and hangs onto to every word. By the next morning, he prepares breakfast with them and enjoys a peaceful meal.

That is, untilfour more Asgardians drop in out of nowhere to explain his brother Loki - _Loki? _Okay, even Jane knows he's the Norse god of tricks and probably going to be a problem... which he is.

A destroyer-robot comes along with an intent to kill. Jane, Darcy, and Erik try to evacuate people as it starts blowing up the town, and the Asgardians attempt to destroy it but nothing works; instead they're almost killed. Glass showers down on them as they try to run away, but they get caught up in the crossfire. Thor attempts to appeal to the robot, to his _brother_, and they watch as he gets struck right across the face.

"_No!_" Jane runs for him; he's hurt badly, and he tells her he's glad she's safe, but he says no more. She tries to _drag _him out of the way before deciding to simply attempt to shield him with her own body, but Erik pulls her away. In the silence, she hears a whooshing sound.

"_Oh. My. God._"

Mjolnir slashes through the sky and right into his hand. His armour builds up around his body with a red cape tacked to his shoulders to drape gracefully to the floor; he flies, summons a storm and eradicates the robot. 

“_It’s a good look.”_

Couslon appears. Thor forces him to return her stolen items, and he takes her flying to the bridge she seeks with his hammer. Before he leaves, he presses chaste kiss to her knuckles, but she takes it further; she wasn't going to pass up the chance to make out with a _literal god_. Seconds later, he and his friends disappear in a blast of rainbow light.

'_I found a guy who respects me, mom,_' she thinks with a sad smile. Darcy takes her hand and they share a small hug in the desert, staring at the scorch mark in the sand.

Yeah, that was all within about three or four days. It just got weirder from there.

* * *

She agrees to share her knowledge with SHIELD about Einstein-Rosen Bridges and what little she knows of Asgard. Suddenly for the first time, Jane finds herself becoming a sought out expert on Asgardian cosmology and astrophysics in a way she is sure turns the stomachs of her male academics. It shows.

It shows in their remarks about her ‘_personal involvement_’ with an Asgardian Prince, and in their overreaction to any praise sent her way. Regardless, _she_ is more in demand than any of them have been in the last fifteen years. She tries and fails to not preen like a peacock at the thought.

* * *

** _July 2012_**

** **

‘_CAPTAIN AMERICA FOUND!_’

“_HOLY SHIT!” _

Jane and Erik both jerk from their slouches. “What? What?” Jane asks, panicked that her machine might be broken, again, and beyond repair.

“You won’t guess. OMG, that is _amazing_!” Darcy crows, her fingers sliding along her phone screen, her Twitter page scrolling madly.

“_What?” _Jane asks in exasperation. “What is so amazing?”

“They found Captain America in the ice! And he’s _still_ _alive_!” Darcy swings her phone into Jane’s face so fast, she has to steady herself. Jane grasps her wrist to look clearly at the wobbly screen, but sure enough a photograph of _America’s Favourite Son_ in a distinctly 21st century office chair shine bright.

“Wow,” she murmurs, “they really did find him. Must have been the serum that kept him alive.”

She turns back to her machines whilst Darcy dances over to Erik to share in the good news. Thoughts on Captain America cease when Jane spots the countdown Darcy should have been watching. It’s ended and the time-frame is gone.

She groans and begins re-calibration for the third time that day.

* * *

** _August 2012_ **

Jane is confused.

After losing contact with Erik very suddenly, she’s whisked away to Tromsø to work at the SHIELD base there. Darcy - who had taken leave from her studies for personal development – couldn’t reach him either. SHIELD were being less than forthcoming about why they’d uprooted her to Northern Europe. Darcy tries to find out; it takes five days until she manages to scrounge up a link to footage of New York City, clearly displaying Iron Man, the unfrozen Captain America and _Thor _fighting aliens!

“I thought he couldn’t come back!” Jane croaks, tears falling down her cheeks as she watches him smash another alien into the cement.

Jane, upset that he’d found a way back and did not come to her, is even more inconsolable when she returns to US soil, only to discover he’d gone again. Darcy brings her chocolate ice cream, and they despair about the stupidities of men in their life. For the first time, Jane really opens up to Darcy about her mother, her father and how messed up everything in her childhood was.

“I know I shouldn’t think it,” Jane sobs, “but if I hadn’t been reading all night then perhaps she’d not be dead.”

Darcy reaches blindly out in the dark, and clasps Jane’s elbow on the bed they share. “She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself Janey,” she says, “it was a shitty situation, and you were little. The adults let you down.” Jane sniffs pathetically, her eyes glittering with unshed tears, and manages a small nod.

She isn’t sure if she can believe that.

On her return to American soil, she takes care of Erik after his brainwashing, and she promptly resigns from SHIELD (taking all her base notes too). A year spent trying to find Thor, and he returns with ease and with no consideration for her was enough.

She was _done_.

* * *

** _March 2013_ **

Fate, it turns out, was _not_ done.

After Darcy completed her degree – dragging Jane to her graduation with the Lewis clan - instead of finding a job, she decides to join Jane again as her paid, but not well paid, assistant. She digs into some money she had: her portion of her grandmother’s inheritance.

“Look, Nanna Carla would want me to use my inheritance like this!” Darcy declares one abysmal day in Berlin. “I’m not taking no for an answer, Janey.”

“Fine, but I still want you to save half of it. My research grant is enough, and it wouldn’t be right to eat through all your inheritance, Darce.”

“But-”

“I’ve agreed to use _some_, but you had better not use it all, or I’ll make you the first test subject to go along any bridge I make.” If Darcy suggested that that would take a long time, she’d be shooting herself in her foot and she knew it. She knew Jane would figure this bridge business inside the next three years.

They travel around the world, wherever the research grant and the portion of inheritance takes them. In March 2013, things just turn plain weird for a second time. Erik runs off to London, rents an apartment, disappears and Jane has about reached her wits’ end when she cannot contact him. She flies to England and still can’t find him until whispers reach her that some old guy is harassing people at Stonehenge. It gets worse a few days later when she finds out it was Erik and he was _naked _and proclaiming the ‘_end is nigh_’ in nothing but his socks.

To baffle her more, her intern has an intern. He’s called Ian.

And to add more fun to the mix, there are weird anomalies.

Anomalies where things fall through the floor to come out of the ceiling, or they fall and _never come back_.

“I’m sorry about the keys, Jane!” Darcy says apologetically. Jane glares for a moment, rolls her eyes and turns away with a sigh. They’re in an abandoned warehouse in London. Her handheld device lights up, from there her sense of self-preservation shrinks compared to her curiosity, and she keeps walking. She finds a strange black box, so of course she touches it, because _Science! _

From here, her memory blurs. After several hours, she finds her way out to a panicked Darcy. The police are there and that's when Thor magically appears, but before he can whisk her away, she finds out exactly what is in her system. Unbeknownst to Janey that strange black box had passed something along to her

Thor whisks her away to Asgard, and it is the most beautiful place she has ever seen. Golden towers and a rainbow road, magic around every corner; Jane’s mind was aflutter with all the things she could learn, but that had to wait because glowing red stuff that shoot concussive blasts out from her hands was _not _normal, not even for her.

When inside the Soul Forge-

“_Quantum field generator._” 

-she meets Odin, Allfather, who calls her a goat _almost _to her face. She sickens like a mortal, and it is no use trying to prevent her death. He has guards try to remove her until said concussive blast heaves them back into the walls to the surprise of every Asgardian other than Thor.

The Aether has inflicted itself upon her, she learns, and as a mortal it could consume her. Jane wasn’t so sure, because if she listened hard enough, she could almost _hear_ something just beyond the edge of her hearing, and it does not wish to harm her, she thinks. Nevertheless, the Dark Elves want the Aether to return the Realms to darkness, and for that Odin wants to use her as bait.

Nothing goes to plan because _why would it_?

The Dark Elves attack Asgard, as Odin wanted. Jane plays her part, but Frigga does not wish her to be in harm's way. The Dark Elf, Malekith however, is strong and Thor’s mom dies protecting her – now doesn’t _that _trigger her festering thoughts on her own mother’s death?

The funeral is so heartfelt and heartbreaking that Jane almost couldn’t bear to be there, knowing they mourned all because she’d stupidly gone exploring and touched things without thought. Jane stands with Thor, clasping his arm tightly; in that moment she briefly shares with him her own mother’s passing.

“I am heartened that you felt you could share that with me, dear Jane. She must have been a good woman to raise as lovely a person as you,” Thor smiles wistfully down at her, and kisses her forehead. His embrace is as warm and inviting as she recalled.

The peaceful moment is short-lived however, as she ends up under house-arrest by Odin, meaning they have to break out both her and Loki to prevent the destruction sure to be caused. Upon seeing Loki, Jane can't help but slap him, and the slap seemed to startle Loki in its strength, but he _likes_ her. She can’t really say the same.

Their escape is dramatic. She barely registers the ship slicing through the air at such speeds it should be impossible, nor does she see the decapitation of the statue of Thor’s grandfather. The Aether was talking in her mind; not clear enough to know what it was saying but loud enough to distract her from the outside world. She could feel it curling into every corner of her, and it still did not wish to hurt her.

They trick the Dark Elves, and they remove the Aether from her. Loki dies and Jane feels a new level kinship with Thor.

Now powered by the Aether, Malekith begins his plans in earnest, but through using the Convergence, they trap him in Greenwich. Thor falls and _again_, she has the bright idea to pull him out of the way of the falling Dark Elf ship. And _again, _realising pulling is futile, she lies across him sensing the dark presence of the ship bearing down on them.

Darcy is a life saver. The final pod is in place and the ship disappears. The silence is bliss.

* * *

After that, life actually starts to calm down for Jane. As in, her work didn’t inveigle her with so many extra-terrestrial events as it had done in the last few years.

Thor left Asgard, and its throne, for her, which Jane can’t stop to consider the implications of. They take the time to talk: about who they are, their lives and their hopes for what they want to do. Jane is glad to have him there. They finally connect properly. 

For the first six months after the Convergence, she remains in London to work with the University College of London, and the subsequent research puts her in the runnings for a Nobel Prize in astrophysics. Following that announcement, she is wanted _everywhere_: lecturing, at conferences, workshops, dinners, and receptions. For the next year, she travels around the world, continuing her research into the Convergence and Asgardian technology.

It is astounding to Jane that she could feel so different to three years ago, and she finds that she doesn't want to stop for fear that it’d crumble into dust around her. Thor is a steadying presence in her life, one she has lacked since her mother passed and Aunt Peggy left; he's particularly good at knowing when she needs relief from her anxiety.

“It’s in your hands,” he says when she questions how he’d known. “They clench and twist as your mind does.”

His phrasing confuses her, but then she sees that unearthly glint in his blue eyes and knows he saw _more_. She doesn't dismiss his comment, but she is sure her hands aren't her tick.

Now she has to consciously stop her fidgeting when she _does _notice their continual clenching and stretching.

Darcy also decides to stay with her as the PR person and lab manager. Darcy Lewis is _not_ going to leave Jane to the wolves that is academia and the press. Even Ian, the other intern, remains with them. That is until the next year, when the world goes mad again, but it is SHIELD that falls.

* * *

** _May 2014_ **

Documents surge online. Darcy attempts to gather anything to do with Jane’s work and get it back to it back. That is what dumbfounds her; it’s the fact _Hydra _of all things, has been growing inside SHIELD, like a parasite and that notion nearly makes her throw up.

“Darcy! They could have used my work! God knows what they would have done with it!” She panics. “Oh my god, poor Peggy! And Captain America and the Commandos!"

Thor peers around the kitchen doorway. “What does this have to do with the Captain, Jane?”

“In World War II, he and his Howling Commandos went out to destroy Hydra, and Peggy Carter worked to develop SHIELD to protect the world from people like them. This is a huge slap in the face to all that work and effort, and loss of life! I mean,” Jane pushes away her work and scribbles, and pulls out another specific sheet, saying ‘_James Buchanan Barnes, Sgt_’ on the front alongside a head-shot of a smartly dressed man. “This man _died _in the effort to destroy Hydra, but it turns out he was captured and experimented on by them…now he’s been their _tool, _their weapon. He would never have wanted to be that, but god knows what they did to him! And God knows what they could have done with my work if I had remained there!”

* * *

Only two days later they get a nasty surprise.

Ian leaves the lab.

Not unusual except for the fact his desk is entirely bare. None of his notes, his workings or calculations are on his desk. Then, Darcy realises her desk is also bare, and so is Jane’s.

“Thor! Jane! The notes, they’re gone!” Darcy storms into the kitchenette attached to their workspace.

“What?”

“All our notes are gone and so is Ian!”

Thor chases him down – the idiot hadn’t got far – and manages to retrieve all of the near-stolen notes as he hands Ian Boothby over to British authorities. They reveal that he had been involved in HYDRA for the last six months, meaning that most of Jane’s work was safe. For now.

“I need somewhere safe to work. And there is only one person I can think of who could supply that,” she says glumly, “you are not gonna like it, Thor.”

Darcy groans, knowing what Jane meant. “Do we have to? He makes crude remarks about my,” she gestures to her chest.

“I don’t like it either, but he offered once, and I think he might accept.”

“Who do you mean, Jane?”

“Tony Stark,” she admits. Thor’s face darkens.

“We can only hope he will not betray your trust as he did mine.”

* * *

Her thoughts drifted to an old email she sent Tony Stark when he offered her unlimited funding and wondered if he’d still be interested, but it’d be hard to convince him considering what had happened in the time since. Stark had betrayed Thor’s trust and had soured their relationship. After the mishap with Ultron and the complete destruction of Sokovia, the Avengers had split up, with everyone other than Tony going to the upstate facility. According to Thor, Stark had made the wrong decision. His meddling with things he didn’t understand, despite Thor’s warnings, resulted in Sokovia being obliterated, and he did not seem to be taking responsibility for it, nor had he apologised for betraying Thor’s trust. Thor would rather not have Jane’s work in his hands, but they were – somehow – the safest.

“I do not control you Jane. If you think it the best course of action, please take it. I would only say to be wary, for he betrayed me. If he thought my anger at him great then, he will not wish to know my wrath if he does anything to sabotage your achievements.” Jane believed him. That glint, the one that told her he was not human, seemed to intensify into a brilliant white that nearly engulfed the blue of his eyes. She said nothing when he did not react to it.

“But, I have long wished to introduce you and Lady Darcy to my friends from work!” He says, his jovial mood returning at the thought. "I have spoken of you quite often."

Jane laughs out loud. “Since when did you use that phrase?”

“Ah, I like it.” He shrugged.

By August 2015, she and Darcy flew back to the States for the first time in nearly two years to settle in upstate New York.

Considering all that she had been through in her 33 years of life, involving Norse gods, dark elves and near-death experiences, Jane never expected it would be her family life - which she treasured and despised in the recesses of her mind – to be the next thing in her life to get so freaking _weird_.

Yeah, Fate was _not _done.

‘_Thor give me strength’_.


	3. Steven Rogers, Please Stand Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven Grant Rogers is a fighter and always has been, but what will be coming for him isn't something that he knows how to deal with as easily as a bully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes Captain America and how the other side unfolds.  
After this, I am not sure if I'll be able to be weekly in my updates. These first three chapters were already part done from when I started writing this in September, so from here on I am treading into virgin territory as it were, with nothing actually written out beyond notes/brief segments.  
Also, brief moment of period typical homophobia in this chapter.  
All mistakes are mine and I have altered the timeline slightly to fit as I need but not by a lot. I hope you enjoy!  
EDIT: Big shout out to survivor_reborn who helped with a section of this, because I had no idea how to get it right, so it has changed in one place. There is dicussion of physical illness, and illness in general in this chapter pertaining to pre-Serum Steve and how he may have reacted to it. Please have this in mind when reading, I have done my best to be sensitive about the topic, and tried to be accurate in how a person with illness *may* react.  
Some alterations have been made 01/11/2019

Steven Grant Rogers did not come screaming into the world. In the early hours of 4th July, 1918, in a confined apartment not quite in Red Hook, and not quite in Carroll Gardens, Sarah Rogers struggles with her only son.

“_He’s early, much too early_,” the women around her say. He barely cries. He's too small. He's too weak.

‘_He won’t make it_,’ she thinks hopelessly. Sarah could not help but feel she’s failed her boy and her dead husband, killed in action just three weeks earlier. The news had reached her mere days ago, and her sorrow at losing him must surely have made her have her son too early.

She has failed.

Little Steven Grant Rogers defies expectations. When his father’s body is returned to them, Sarah holds a tightly swaddled Steve to her chest at the graveside, watching the casket lower into the ground. Joseph Grant Rogers would have been proud of their little fighter.

Fate will test him all his life.

* * *

Steve lives with sickness: asthma, scarlet fever, rheumatic fever; his poor breathing means he can’t run more than twenty feet without sounding like he was about to drop dead, and his heart condition makes it worse. Not to mention the constant high blood pressure. Steve 

No matter. It doesn’t keep him from going after those he hates the most, and the world is full of them: _bullies_.

His ma and the nuns from the school hate him getting into fights, but Steve isn’t gonna look the other way when Gordy O’Sullivan pulls little Mary Michaels’ pigtails; when Sammy Ratti beats up Freddie Dittorio; or even when Patrick Quinlan, Davey Keegan, and Sean Mallon batter Arnie Roth and Michael Danielson. He jumps in fists flying. He gets in a lucky shot, but typically he walks away with a bloody nose, cracked ribs, numerous bruises, and a sense of fulfilment for stopping them.

Arnie Roth and his boyfriend Michael are nice to Steve, and they keep him company in school. They live a little too far away from him to help when he gets into fights. Sometimes, as much as they want to help Steve, they did not want to tussle with those that harry them; Arnie and Michael appreciate Steve’s bravery and his support, but they don't think it would help if they antagonise the bullies.

“_They…they’d just be worse, Stevie. Me an’ Mike… it’s good’a ya, but it’ll make it worse. They don’t get it, an’ the world don’t either,” _Arnie tells Steve one morning when he comes to school with a fresh black eye. Steve hates seeing Arnie and Michael beat up, but eventually he accepts they can’t always fight back. Two other guys from in his neighbourhood had been beaten real bad, and one had been died as a result. Steve could only hope Arnie and Michael would be okay.

Steve keeps fighting any and every bully he comes across with no permanent backup, until he meets Bucky.

* * *

** _April 1927 _ **

James Buchanan Barnes sighs from his seat on the steps up to his family’s new apartment, not quite in Red Hook and not quite in Carroll Gardens. Though he loves his sisters, will defend them 'til the day he dies, they could be so hard to live with; this morning’s argument had succumbed to screeching and screaming. Cathy had stolen Joy’s fine pink cardigan (he knew that because he _saw _her take it) but Joy had declared that little Becky had pinched it. Of course, the false claim riled his youngest sister and now all three were shouting. Ma had been furious when he left to go scout out their new home turf.

He knew this part of Brooklyn, knew that loads of Irish families lived further on into Carroll Gardens and that they didn’t get on with the Italian families down in Red Hook, where he, his sisters, ma and pop had lived with his pop’s pop, until the tight bastard had died (tight because he had a lotta money stashed away).

So Bucky is not surprised to see a scrawny, blond kid being thrown around an alley across the street. He’d seen the punk in school, getting whaled on a lot; Bucky could see the fire and determination, and he could see it now as he held a trash can lid up, nose bloody and staining his shirt.

"_I can do this all day_."

At ten, Bucky knows he has a mean right hook – his left weren’t too shabby, neither – so a kick, couple jabs and a shove later, the kids whaling on the tiny guy scram.

“I gotta say, punk, I seen ya fly into fights and get whacked so much that it’s a wonder ya ain’t a smear on the sidewalk,” Bucky comments lightly. The kid glares up at him from the ground, blood dripping down his shirt.

“Better I stop the bully than sit an’ watch like you, jerk,” he says. Bucky’s grin is broad at the moxie, and he offers a hand.

“Name’s James Buchanan Barnes. Call me Bucky.”

“Steve Rogers.”

With hands clasped, a great friendship is born.

* * *

Steve and Bucky stick together. Bucky's there, cheering, when Stevie finally hit his first home run aged 12 and makes it around all the bases. Steve’s there when Bucky wins his first welterweight championship at age 17; to celebrate he takes Steve dancing with several pretty gals that have been taken in by the former’s smile and charm, and treat Steve with some kindness. They had to, otherwise Bucky never gave a girl the time of day if they belittled him.

Bucky defends Steve by levelling out the playing field when he struggles, and most guys didn’t want to tussle with him the same way they would Arnie Roth and Michael. He even tries to teach Steve some boxing to help give him an advantage as they grew into that odd time of not quite child and not quite adult; Bucky has presence that discouraged morons from hassling Steve. He was a three-time welterweight champ by 20, was a fit and lean guy from manual labour. There are times when Steve hates that he wasn’t like Bucky, capable and strong; he stands out like a sore thumb still selling papers like some kid while Bucky near breaks his back at the docks.

“If I was just _big _enough to get these guys myself, to work like you do…” he says wistfully on a midsummer evening as they walk back from the gym.

“Stevie, there is more than being big enough to hit a guy. Ya gotta outthink him too,” Bucky says wisely. “And you got a look in your eye that ain’t there just to soften up ol’ Miss Green at the corner store. _Use _it, be clever.”

“Whattaya mean?” Steve frowned, “I’m not doin’ anythin’ to Miss Green!”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You an’ I both know she falls for that ‘_aww, shucks_’ routine hook, line an’ sinker every time! You’re a smart guy, Stevie, an’ you can use it for more than charmin’ the ladies into givin’ us stuff for nothin’.”

He knows what Bucky means. They are clever guys; they just never have the money to be anything more. Bucky could be an engineer because he could do numbers and angles pretty quick. His ma always said he had an intelligence about him.

Steve beats most guys in school at chess within a few minutes. For all that he could likely never be a soldier, he knows tactics and strategies. Though he favours art over a lot of other things. He's the artist of the two, and Bucky isn't half bad, but Steve can _really_ draw. He can capture beautiful scenes from inside his mind or in front of his eyes. Never had Brooklyn Bridge looked so magnificent until Steve had drawn it.

They also love to sing. On a slow Saturday afternoon, Steve and Bucky came upon Arnie and Michael in a diner, also having a slow day. From there, they formed their own barbershop quartet, and met up every Saturday afternoon in some bars and earning a little extra cash singing live. Assholes still hassle Arnie and Michael, but Steve still goes after them; at least he had plenty of back-up. 

At sixteen they save enough money to go see the recently built Empire State Building, but they spend most of their money on food, meaning they have to walk all the way back home. They are tired, sweaty and hungry by the time their homes come into view, but they had so much fun that they didn’t really care.

In a terrific summer in 1935 they make the trip to Coney Island. Bucky spends most of the money on trying to win a silly toy for Dot, a redhead with a pretty smile, but doesn't quite make it. Steve laughs so hard he nearly triggers an asthma attack.

They try the Cyclone after at Bucky’s request. It was swell, initially, but as it picks up speed, Steve’s wobbly constitution can’t handle the swirling; he promptly throws up his lunch of hot dogs. Bucky is in tears from laughter and doesn't even see the rest of the ride because of them.

“I’ll get you back for this, Bucky!” Stevie cries, weakly swatting at Bucky’s shoulder. That makes him laugh even harder.

He eventually takes pity and helps Steve clean up. Their journey home is slow, but only because Bucky has random bouts of laughter as they walk home because they have no money, _again_.

* * *

Steve appreciates having Bucky, his closest friend. They'd been with each other through thick and thin, and it was never more needed than when Sarah Rogers died in February 1936.

She was a nurse on the infectious diseases ward. Sarah Rogers had always been a tough cookie, but a winter fever weakened her system and then tuberculosis did the rest. It was hard watching her fade away from it. Steve had always seen her as a pillar of strength, immovable despite what life had thrown at her: the death of her parents as a girl, the death of her husband only a year after their marriage, a sickly son who nearly died every winter and a lifetime of worry as a result. He picks up more commissions, and even Bucky chips in, to be sure he can bury his mom with his father. '_They deserve that much,_' Steve thinks. 

Even after the funeral, Steve is insistent and going home. Adamant he can keep going, Steve tries to turn away any offer of help Bucky makes. That isn't gonna happen.

“_I’m with ya to the end of the line, pal,_" Bucky promises. 

For a decade more, that is true. 

* * *

Bucky moves in with Steve to help him pay rent. As talented as Steve is, art commissions are hard to come by, and paper selling isn't lucrative. Bucky's money from the docks is about enough most days, unless Steve fell really ill; then Bucky would work twice as hard to get more pay. Some days, they had nothing. At times, Bucky had stop him from trying to kill himself.

"I've gotta do my bit, Buck," Bucky would be hearing those words more and more a few years later when war was declared in Europe.

It came first through the papers Steve sold. Germany had invaded Poland, and the British declared war on September 2nd, 1939.

“These Nazis have been gatherin’ up Jews, puttin’ them in ghettos. But they’ll be going after any one they don’t like,” Steve says with certainty. “We gotta join 'em.”

Bucky eyes up his small friend, knowing that most of the guys at the docks didn’t give two hoots about Europe’s problems. “I don’t know,” he begins warily, “most folks came here to get _away _from the fightin’ there. Europe’s been at each other’s throats for centuries, Stevie; it ain’t likely that the president’ll agree. Or, his underlings won’t.”

For a time, Bucky is right. The USA do not get involved.

Not until 7th December, 1941, when the quiet Sunday is interrupted by a harrowing broadcast. Steve and Bucky are in their apartment, one drawing, and the other reading. The wireless starts the news and its first headline is that the naval base and Honolulu in Hawaii has been attacked by the Japanese. Their eyes meet across the room then drift to the wireless. Bucky forgets his book and Steve drops his pencil, listening to the news that ships have been damaged and people killed.

Later the same evening another report comes through. Over a thousand men killed, the _USS Arizona, USS West Virginia, _and _USS Oklahoma _sunk, so too was the _USS Oglala,_ the _USS Nevada_ beached, the _USS California _trapped in the mud after extensive damage, and the _USS Cassin _and _USS Downes _damaged irreparably by fire.

USA declares war the next day, 8th December, 1941.

The draft doesn't hit them right away, but by mid-1942, it has. Bucky is gone within three months of his call-up.

* * *

** _1943_ **

From here on is the story most people in America and across the world know. Young Steven Rogers, 5’4, barely 90 pounds and nearly knocking on Death’s door every day, becomes a super soldier. The first of many it is hoped.

That hope ends when Dr Erskine is murdered just minutes after seeing the initial success. From there, the intent of Captain America went from soldier to showcase. A preacher for war bonds to help their boys across both oceans. Ply the folks back home with tales of bravery, glory to get the ones growing into manhood to pick up a gun and fight.

Steve hates it, this play-acting. He wants to fight, be down there with Bucky and the thousands of soldiers sent from home into a large world at war. He eventually goes overseas with his showgirls and cabinet of fools, but the shows sink like a lead weight. These men have seen the horrors, they haven’t seen the glory and bravery could just as easily have been called stupidity. They lose friends every day to bombs or disease, injury or gunfire.

They glare at the puppet preaching on the stage. They can see the strings, and hate what Steve represents. They know they can hit this guy, at least.

* * *

** _Azzano, Italy, 1943_ **

Steve’s entourage winds its way through the European theatre. He ends up in the 107th, Bucky’s regiment, but no Bucky is there in wide-eyed surprise to greet him (Steve could hear him saying “_Steve, why are you big?”_).

He’s gone. Either captured or dead. There aren’t any bodies to identify because whatever weapons were used left no bodies to find and send home. All Colonel Phillips could do was write condolence letters, and ‘BARNES’ sounds familiar.

Steve knows Bucky is alive, and he is not about to let hundreds of men remain prisoner either; Phillips might have given up, but Steve knows he can save them. Peggy and Howard Stark agree to help him. They fly him over the forest surrounding the compound; he parachutes out of the plane to begin his one-man attack on the enemy base, and he finds hundreds of prisoners. Inside, they tell him about the doors, that men had been taken back there.

Bucky was one of them, and no one has seen him for days. Steve marches in, intent on finding him, and discovers papers on other bases, maps showing their locations and troop movements of both the Allies and Nazis; he is thankful that his memory is much improved because this dangerous group had presence all over the European theatre.

He finds Bucky strapped to a table, muttering. Finally, Steve gets the wide-eyed look of surprise.

_“I thought you were smaller.”_

As they try to escape, they find a man who can peel his face off. Red Skull, a man part of, but not just, a Nazi. A mad man wanting the power of the gods, to gain superhuman power. He's like Steve, but he's pumped full of a serum that exaggerates the worst in him instead. He escapes as he lets the base burn and explode around them.

The only escape Steve and Bucky find is a single metal beam, rickety at best, crossing over a fiery pit. Steve makes Bucky go first, and considering he had been tied to a table, pumped full of unknown substances, Bucky manages to cross. As he reaches the other side, the beam falls away just as he clambers over the barrier.

“_There’s gotta be a rope or somethin'!”_

_“Go on, get out of here!”_

_“**NO! **Not without you!”_

Steve leaps.

They march back home followed by hundreds of Allied soldiers. Steve is greeted as a soldier.

* * *

** _London, 1943_ **

The London bar is the cheeriest thing most of the men have seen in months.

The beer may not be what they’re used to and not to their tastes, but its alcohol and that is what is needed on the dreary evening. Bucky is still looking at Steve in wonder; his small-statured friend is now _taller _than him, muscular and just healthier overall. “I can barely believe my eyes,” Bucky says as they sit at the bar, ordering two beers. “I guess this stuff won’t even get you?” He gestures with his glass as he takes a gulp.

Steve laughs as he takes a drink too. “I don’t think so. At least, not that fast.” Bucky commiserates that sad fact, and asks just how his not tall friend became tall.

Bucky is not disappointed. Steve’s story is exactly what he came to expect from his determined, reckless punk of a pal: hired by some guy saying he’s a scientist for experimental treatment, Steve gets himself zapped and sent across to the war. In true Steve fashion, he has found the biggest bully yet.

The bully is called _Hydra_.

The Strategic Scientific Reserve is particularly interested in finding out what they make their weaponry from and how they do it. They have guns, bombs and tanks that seemingly vaporise men totally, with nary a hair left behind. Bucky had seen it, and there is a haunted look in his eyes as he describes men – nearly his entire regiment – vanishing in front of him.

So Steve has selected a team.

“_Hell no,” _Bucky says in the face of following ‘Captain America’. “_That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight, I’m following him_.” Bucky can’t imagine not being the one to watch Stevie’s back; he’d been doing it since they were ten years old.

Yet, he has the promise of an honourable discharge. He could go home. Most guys would kill to be in his position, but Bucky doesn't feel right leaving things unfinished. These assholes want to control the world, and kill those who don’t line up. He can’t step away from that.

Plus, he knows that Zola did _something _to him. He feels different, like there is something curling around his body, and it disturbs him. That mad scientist did something to him and Bucky knows it is the right thing to do so others don’t get messed around with like a lab rat. He only hopes he doesn’t regret it.

* * *

The Howling Commandos are deployed all over Europe. They take out Hydra bases across the entire continent from Paris to Warsaw to Moscow, from Rome to Brussels. Like the mythological creature it was named for, Hydra has grasping tentacles all over. The Commandos are praised at every turn by soldiers, generals and politicians alike. They receive so many medals for their achievements, like liberating a small Austrian town from Hydra control, rescuing American soldiers outside Stalingrad, more at the Siege of Bastogne, aiding the French Resistance in Normandy and taking control of a major supply route through Poland. The Commandos became fabled heroes and Cap is the focus of many a young lady’s affection. Bucky finds himself in Steve’s shadow for once.

“_I’m you,_” he bemoans with a cheery smile, though he did mean it slightly; it felt weird to not be the one the ladies flock to, but he's seen war, death and gruesome things. He knows he isn't the same as when he left. Steve doesn't know what to do with the attention. He is gone on Peggy, but he doesn't want to hurt people’s feelings either. Peggy finds it inordinately comical; she often makes small comments about all the attention he gets. Steve always blushes bright red.

* * *

** _23rd December 1944_ **

** **

The Commandos had been given three days off to celebrate Christmas Day in London with the SSR, after saving American soldiers at the Siege of Bastogne and finding intel on Zola's movement in the Alps. It had been a long trawl through war-torn continental Europe. London didn't look all that much better, even if the milkmen are still crossing massive rubble piles to deliver their wares. The spirit of ‘_Keep Calm and Carry On_’ is incredibly prevalent even in the pub that had seen better days in the not so distant past.

As Steve enters, he sees Dum Dum, Morita, Dernier, Gabe and Falsworth are enjoying a near-drunken game of darts across the other side of a wooden dancefloor. Bucky isn’t with them, Steve notices; he looks around the pub and sees most of the patrons this evening are staff from the SSR, let out to let their hair down this holiday season.

He finally sees Bucky across at the bar, nursing a drink.

“What has you so down, Buck? It’s Christmas!” Steve asks jovially as he drops onto the stool beside him. Bucky offers up a sarcastic look from the corner of his eye.

“Great! Christmas! Bad beer, cold rooms, hard beds, rubble piles, perfect holiday time!” he snorts, taking a large glug of his drink. Steve eyes Bucky, wondering not for the first time where this jaded, overly caustic version of him had come from. The war took its toll of people, Steve understood that, but Bucky usually was the type to push through the hardships. He had during hard times, when things looked really grim, so Steve wasn’t sure what to do to pick up his pal.

“We’re alive to see it in, at least,” he says grimly, “that’s more than some can say.” Bucky glares down at the sticky wooden counter and barely nods in affirmation.

“True. Must count our blessings,” he grunts, but Steve sees the eye-roll.

“Yeah, we should. What’s got into you, Buck?”

Bucky turns to Steve so quickly he nearly fell off the stool. Bucky’s face was dark and set in a deep scowl, his blue eyes ice-light in the dim room.

“Nothing, Steve, absolutely nothing.”

Bucky’s answer is so contrary to his reaction that Steve stares dumbly. Bucky looks to speak again, but decides not to. “Sorry, I-” he falters, glancing away at nothing. “I need some air. I’ll see you in the morning, Steve.” He pats him on the shoulder and walks away to the door. Steve can only watch helplessly.

He'd noticed something was off about Bucky, but presumed capture and experimentation in Azzano had done it; the doctors said it'd wear off. But Steve didn't think it had, even a year later. He hadn't said anything; maybe he should have because Bucky hadn't and it seemed to have festered.

His dour thoughts vanish when Peggy walks in wearing a delightful blue outfit and draws everyone’s attention. Her focus is on him; Steve flushes as she resolutely walks towards him with no care for any other man vying to get her notice.

“Good evening, Captain,” she says, beaming.

“Hi Peggy,” his tongue suddenly feels heavy, and he knows he’s gonna trip up. “Let me get you a drink, wine perhaps?”

Peggy raises an eyebrow questioningly, he thinks, though he can’t quite tell. “A pint will do quite nicely, actually. I’ll sort it.”

Before he can even move, Peggy marches to the bar, and briskly orders their drinks and slips the money across to the barman. “There, shall we?”

They sit themselves at a hidden table where they could people watch and talk quietly without interruption. A few pints are imbibed – most of them Steve’s – when they realise they are one of only three couples left in the entire place. “We may have outlived our welcome,” Peggy says lightly, peering around the darkening room; the barman is wiping down tables, the last two couples are laughing beside the door as they put their coats on to face wintry London.

Steve stands and offers his hand to Peggy. She takes it and to his surprise slips it into the crevice of his elbow. Her smile is coy as she looks up at him; his cheeks flush as he leads her to the door and the coat-rack. He slips her neat black coat over her shoulders and Peggy immediately places her hand back onto his arm.

Their walk is quiet, time having slipped into the midnight hours without their notice and snow is gently fluttering to the ground.

“You can almost pretend there isn’t a war on,” she sighs, watching the snowflakes dance against the dark sky.

Steve briefly glances up too, but his attention is drawn back down to the lady beside him. “It’s…good to step away for a time.”

He may have become the heart-throb of many young women, he still had no clue how to talk to women; not even those he liked. Peggy doesn’t seem to mind, and she even graces him with a delightful smile, and Steve feels his heart stumble in its rhythm.

They wander onto a green lawn, not an actual park but a cosy, quiet space surrounded by some chestnut trees; Forget-Me-Nots sprouted at the foot of them in a lovely pale blue. “What do you want after the war?” She suddenly asks, spinning on the ball of her foot to partly face him, side-stepping as she walked.

“Well,” Steve begins, “I, uh….I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about what I wanted.”

“Never?” she gasps in surprise. “I thought you were the man with a plan.”

“I wanted to make things fair for others, stop the bad guys. And I’m doing that now, and making a difference. I hope.” He says, glancing down to see an intense expression on Peggy’s face.

“What about now? Once the war’s over? What is in the cards for Steven Rogers? Politics?” Peggy teases. Steve pulls a face of disgust.

“No? Acting? I think you could give Cary Grant a run for his money!”

Steve snorts in amusement. “Really?”

“Perhaps not your calling, I saw you on stage,” she grins, nudging him with her shoulder. “Marriage, maybe? And a family?”

Steve’s body tenses under her hand; Peggy realises that it may have been inappropriate, so she startles when he begins to answer. “I didn’t think…people didn’t expect me to make it past ten. An’…I had so much wrong with me, I didn’t think it’d be right ya know? In case something went wrong, and for their mom, it'd be hard for her. My mom, she went through hell with me. I still feel guilty about it, some days, bein' such a burden on her... I can't imagine what it's like. For a mother, I... I couldn't do that; to neither of 'em. That ain't fair. So no, I never did.” He admits quietly, fixing his eyes to the snow-patched grass beneath his feet. "Even with the serum, who knows what that could do? It's not like it was tested like that, for that. That could go wrong too."

“Understandable." 

He takes a moment. Breathes in, exhales, and finally lifts his head to look at Peggy. Her brown eyes sparkle in the faint glow of a nearby streetlight; Steve feels his breath catch at how beautiful she is with snow dotted about her perfectly rolled hair, her red lips appearing soft and inviting. He couldn't believe he's arm in arm with such a gorgeous woman.

“Maybe. Maybe I do now.”

Her lips part in a playful smile. “_Maybe_? You don’t sound sure, Captain.”

She walks them on further, around a hedged pathway and onto the street again where another couple were also enjoying a romantic midnight stroll.

“Alright, a game,” Peggy declares, grinning back at him. “_Maybe_, if or when you have a family, what would you call a son?”

“What?”

“If you had a son, what would you call him? I’d call a son Michael, for my brother.” She says. Steve doesn’t know what to think; he hasn’t ever seen such a childlike Peggy before, wanting to play a game.

“Er, perhaps after my pop.”

Peggy beamed at him. "How lovely, Joseph I think you said?" he nods. “It's a good, strong name. Now, a girl? I personally lean towards Elizabeth.”

Steve thinks for a second. “Sarah, for my mom.”

“It is such a thoughtful, loving thing of you to do, to honour your parents like that," Peggy says, clasping his hand with hers. "I’d perhaps go for Sarah-Jane, a grandmother who I dearly miss.”

“Jane’s nice too. I never got why people say it’s plain,” he says as they turn the street corner. Peggy nods her head in agreement.

“Nor I, it’s a classic name. A Jane is an uncomplicated, sweet person I think.”

They go quiet again as they stroll along, when Peggy suddenly pipes up again. “Sarah Josephine would be good too, wouldn’t it? For both your mother and your father?”

Steve stops and considers it. “Yeah, not a bad name at all; what’s got you thinking about kids’ names? Got your eye on someone, huh? Getting broody?” he teases and Peggy blushes at the insinuation.

“Absolutely not!” she says primly, swatting at his arm. "I just wanted to get your mind off how glum I'd made you."

“Ah, it’s fine. Once we stop these guys, the world will be better, and life will change. I can…I can perhaps see a future now, when I couldn’t before.” Steve smiles gently down at Peggy. “I can definitely say that any son of yours with have inordinate amounts of respect for you, perhaps to the point of being scared outta his mind.”

Peggy’s laughter is cheery and contagious. “And I am sure little Sarah Josephine Rogers would be an absolute angel with a good dose of cheek!”

They reach the SSR base minutes later. Inside all is quiet; everyone either still out celebrating or tucked away in their beds. He walks Peggy back to her room, closer to the command centre.

“Thank you for being such wonderful company,” she whispers, “I really did have a lovely time of it.”

Steve smiles softly. “A shame it’s had to end.”

As he walks back to his own bunk, he can’t help but picture a dark-eyed girl with pretty brown ringlets skipping down a garden path, or along a Brooklyn sidewalk.

Steve's sigh is happy; he likes the idea.

* * *

_ **3rd January 1945** _

In late December, after Christmas, the Commandos storm another base, this time in southern Germany and come away with vital information. The maps and intelligence confirm their other intel that the last main base is somewhere in the Alps. It results in a plan that leads them back to Azzano and Italy in early January of the new year.

Bucky still senses something is not right in himself; Steve had yet to comment on it because he wanted Bucky to offer it up first. It’d have to wait though. First, they have to capture Zola on an alpine train; staring at the zipline makes Bucky think of a happy trip made on a sunny day far, far away.

“_Remember when I made you ride the cyclone at Coney Island?”_

_“Yeah, and I threw up?”_

_“This isn’t payback is it?”_

_“Now why would I do that?”_

They share a smile before landing on a train that would haunt them both.

* * *

** _5th January 1945_ **

Steve cannot sleep.

He cannot get Bucky’s face out of his mind.

The scream as he fell into a snowy ravine.

The man wasn’t there for Captain America but for a little kid from Brooklyn and for the first time, Steve _hates _that he is too dumb not to run away from a fight. The letter to Bucky’s folks is empty of emotion; this was his best friend and the letter to tell his parents he’s never coming home is written by some unaffected, distanced army general. They’re barely meant condolences for a man who kept Steve going, kept him alive and loved him dearly.

'_Why can’t I do it?!'_

Peggy tries to distract him. Reassure him that Bucky dying wasn’t in vain. Steve doesn’t feel that. He had nobody to lose back home. Bucky did; he had his mom and dad, his three sisters. Steve could only lose Bucky and now that he has, part of him doesn’t care whether Bucky dying meant something, or wouldn’t be in vain.

He shouldn’t be dead.

* * *

** _14th January 1945_ **

The SSR has an idea where the base is in the Alps but Zola isn't forthcoming. They'll find it, Steve's certain, but the small man keeps smirking as though he knows more than he lets on. It infuriates Steve. He takes a breather from the viewing gallery and stalks off to the training room.

He beats up several punching bags before anyone comes looking for him. "What did that bag ever do to you?"

Steve stops. He hangs his head, panting hard. His hands were red from his punches and sweat dripped into his eyes. "Got a lot on ma mind."

"I could tell," she says, her footsteps steadily approaching him. "You can't let him get under your skin, you know."

"I _know_ that, Peggy!" he roars, spinning to face her. She doesn't flinch. Steve sags. "I'm sorry, I-" 

"You're worried. You're upset. This has taken a lot from you, I understand that. But Steve, it's almost over. We almost have the end in sight; don't let it take away your determination!" she pleads, crossing right up to him, her hands going for his shoulders. "You're too good to let it get to that Steve."

He sighs again, and finally looks into her eyes. "Am I?"

"_Yes,_" she says emphatically, her expression pleading with him. "I have faith in you. I absolutely do."

On impulse, he wraps his arms tightly around her into a hug. She's soft against him and her hair smells of roses and mint, he thinks. 

"Thank you."

The look Peggy gives him makes his stomach swoop strangely, and he feels almost uncomfortable under her gaze, but not enough to pull away. She grasps his wrist and pulls him down hallways. When they stop, he realises they are outside her door.

“Come here.” Peggy steps back into her room, eyes still on him and lightly tugs on his fingertips.

Steve doesn’t resist.

* * *

Their moment together is emotional and tender. He doesn’t regret it, per se, but he feels foolish for not doing things _properly_.

Peggy doesn’t mind. She wanted it, as much as he did. She gives him a sly, but contented smile.

“_I owe you a dance_.”

She holds him to it.

* * *

_ **28th February 1945** _

They know which base to storm and the entire SSR plans to head right into the stop Schmidt and Hydra once and for all. It’s below the Alps, not all that far from where Bucky fell. Howard Stark informs them the eastern seaboard of the USA will be gone inside an hour if Schmidt crosses the Atlantic.

“_It’s not like we can just knock on the front door_.” Morita sighs despondently, but Steve doesn’t stutter.

“_Why not?_” The entire room stares at him, uncertain if he’s joking or not. “_That’s exactly what we’re gonna do_.”

“Are you certain about this?” Peggy demands once the briefing is completed. “This could become a suicide mission!”

“I know, but we have to. To end this, to get closer to ending it. Once Hydra is out of the way, Hitler and the rest of them can be dealt with!” he cries emphatically. “I can do it, Peggy.”

“It’s not a matter of whether you can, it’s a matter of whether you should!”

He allows his eyes to drift over her face, pink as her anger spread over her face and he can’t help but love her for it. “I should, Peggy. For Bucky, for you, for the world!” He sees the tears peek out at the corners of her sweet brown eyes. “For little Michael Carter, or Sarah Josephine. That future you made me think of, that I think I want. For that, I _have _to do this.”

* * *

_ **4th March 1945** _

They storm the base. Peggy, Colonel Phillips, the Commandos. It is a massive effort on everyone’s part. He burns those on bikes chasing him, takes out one of those new tanks with a single blast from the weapons on his bike. He leaps over the rampart, takes out men with those blaster weapons with his shield, until he’s trapped by flamethrowers and taken hostage.

Schmidt lectures him on arrogance, of all things. Nothing makes him special. “_I’m just a kid from Brooklyn_.”

He takes the beating, which he hasn’t needed to for some time and Steve is reminded of every back alley fight he ever had.

“_I can do this all day_.”

The Commandos smash in through the window, taking out the Hydra operatives as he chases after Red Skull. Morita’s call comes in as a crackle over the radio and the strike teams run inside.

Flamethrowers bar his way through the doors that Red Skull used, but weapons fire ends the threat of the man swinging them.

Peggy steps up to him amongst the men, and all Steve can think to say is, “_You’re late_.” Caught up in the moment, Peggy has to remind him of his objective and he takes off running.

Steve only hopes Fate is on his side.

* * *

Red Skull has other plans for Steven Rogers. He's determined to destroy as many American cities as possible; Steve can run fast, but not fast enough to keep up with an accelerating jet. But he has to stop it.

“_Get in!” _Colonel Phillips pulls up alongside him, with Peggy in the back. He doesn’t question the order and hops over the door. It’s a close call, but Schmidt’s car is as powerful as his jet, it seems, and they reach it just in the nick of time.

“_Keep it steady!”_

“_Wait!” _Peggy reaches up and snags him into a kiss, of good luck or goodbye Steve doesn’t want to know.

Colonel Phillips’ “_I’m not kissin’ ya,”_ is all Steve needs to prompt him.

* * *

Steve corners Red Skull, even after being shot out of the plane aboard the missile for New York. Their fight is hard, swirling about the cockpit as the jet falls from the sky.

“_You could have had the power of the gods!_ _I have seen the future!”_

_“Not my future!” _He shouts, jumping out of the way of a blast. His future depended on him stopping this jet. His shield throw sends Red Skull back into his glowing blue energy core, and breaks it. Lightning bolts open a cloud coloured like the night sky, stars and gases included, taking Schmidt with it. The glowing cube falls out of the jet; Steve lets it drop.

But all he can see now are clouds. They attempt to have him land safely, but the jet won’t respond. It’s too fast. “_I’ve gotta put her in the water_.”

Over the radio, once she’s accepted that this is his choice, it sounds like Peggy has more to say that she doesn’t. He doesn’t ask, the moment too heavy to comprehend.

He angles the plane down, and feels something lodge is his throat.

“_Peggy?” _

_“I’m here.” _

_“I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance.” _

Silence.

_“Alright, a week next Saturday at the Stork Club.”_

_“You got it.”_

_“Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late, understood?”_

His eyes burn.

_“I still don’t know how to dance.”_

_“I’ll show you how. Just be there.”_

_“We’ll have the band play something slow. I’d hate to step on your-”_

Then it’s cold.

* * *

When Steve said to Peggy he was going to take out Red Skull for everyone he knew what the risks were. He knew he might never come back and get that sweet little dream of a little Michael, or Joseph or Sarah-Jane. Once he angled that plane down he expected to be forever entombed in the ice.

Howard never found him nor the plane, but the world evolved and technology allowed for the 21st century to find him. He remembers asking Bucky where they were going once. "_The future_," he'd said. It was a teaser, a potential glimpse into what could be tomorrow, one he wasn't sure he'd see. Now he was in that future, and though there were no flying cars, it wasn't quite how he'd ever pictured it.

It wasn’t sarcastic billionaires that mocked people’s traumas, or demi-gods fighting their brothers, or men who turned into massive green beings, it wasn’t saving New York City from an _alien attack _only a few weeks after waking up to find it wasn’t 1947 or 1950 but _2011_, and that he’d been under the ice for nearly 70 years. He never expected to help a former Russian spy either. SHIELD needed the help, and knowing that Peggy had been involved in its creation made the decision easier for him.

Seeing her...seeing Peggy hurt more than he could believe. It had been so long for her, but for him it barely felt like days, even after being out of the ice for more than a year. She would sometimes forget he was back, a result of the illness she suffered, and it tore at his heart to watch her see him 'again'; and when she could remember, she always looked so guilty and like she wanted to say something but couldn't quite do it. It reminded him of her pause over the radio so he decided not to ask.

* * *

Director Fury and Alexander Pierce are awkward men to work for. Fury compartmentalises everything, and Pierce is the typical politician: sly and underhand. It didn't help that he persists in talking about what impact he'd had on people in the decades he'd missed, that people wrote on him in university essays; that it was amazing to have him here in this day and age. Pierce was an uncomfortable man to be around. His and Fury's Project Insight didn't sit well either; it wasn't freedom, it was fear; it sounded too much like the people he'd fought; he died so they wouldn't gain a foothold.

He thought his life couldn't make any less sense until SHIELD fell because of Hydra, taking with it all the hard work he, the Commandos, Peggy, Howard and the SSR put into destroying them. It felt like such a kick to the gut to know his crashing the plane didn’t help, Bucky dying didn’t help and defeating Nazis didn’t ultimately help. To make it worse, Bucky wasn’t dead. Something _had _happened in Azzano when he rescued him. Steve hated himself when he heard: "_Who the hell is Bucky_?" 

Bucky was like him now; was _becoming _like him even back then, slowly transforming. Steve thought hard about it, and realised Bucky had got quicker, made shots the best snipers shouldn’t have made, he got stronger; Steve didn’t think twice about their sparring matches, nor the impacts he received because he could knock Bucky down. He never said anything. Steve never asked.

His government went against him; the only people not after him was Natasha and his non-Avenger friend Sam. They took out the helicarriers with Hill's help. 

"_The price of freedom is high, and it's a price I'm willing to pay_."

Steve also knew he had to help Bucky, to save him from the hell he must have been in to forget who he was. It succeeded: the helicarriers fell, and Bucky’s face cracked when Steve let himself be beaten and he spoke words that he hoped still meant something.

“_I’m with you ‘til the end of the line_.”

* * *

Sam was by his bedside in the hospital while Steve recovered. Once he was back on his feet, he returned to join up with his former Avengers teammates, and lived in Stark Tower. They take out Hydra bases, trying to find out more information on where their tentacles reached again. Steve was not totally shocked at how comfortable he felt doing it. It was a known thing to him to fight bad guys, particularly Hydra.

Tony throws outrageous parties. Steve had never been a big socialiser so invites Sam to them, as a safe space, someone who wasn’t like the rest of his co-workers. He often joined Thor, feeling an odd kinship with him despite being from widely different backgrounds. He'd often break out the Asgardian mead - "_Not meant for mortal men!"_ which he'd promptly hand over - and Steve would actually get a kick out of a drink in a way he'd hadn't for some time.

When Thor breaks out the Asgardian mead not for mortal men he is informed about a brilliant scientist named Jane Foster.

“Yes! She is the most intelligent person in this realm, I can assure you!” Thor praises loudly. “She has been nominated for a Nobel Prize for her work. I very much wish to have her meet you all, her and Lady Darcy, who bested me when we met, not long after Jane first hit me with her automobile!”

Steve thought Jane and Darcy must be ladies with a lot of moxie to take out Thor, unpowered or not.

Steve had no idea just how much that name, and the future he didn’t want mixed with a brief fancy from 70 years ago will impact him. And how much it could become a nightmare as much as a dream.

* * *

** _September 2015_ **

** **

The Avengers Initiative _sort of _got the green light and their new upstate facility was state-of-the-art. Tony hadn’t wanted them in the Tower, and their newest ally had steadfastly refused. Wanda Maximoff is in her twenties, shy and quiet. Losing her twin had been hard enough, but to suggest living under the roof of the man who had – as she saw it – killed her parents was unconscionable. Steve understood.

Ultron and Sokovia had soured Steve to Tony, and he did not like that the Avengers – aside from Banner, who had helped – didn’t agree with his keeping them in the dark. Steve hoped he could come around, apologise for not telling them, but it was Thor who was not so forgiving; he left for London to return to his ‘Lady Jane’ immediately after removing the Sokovian people to a safe place. He had not even spared Tony a single look.

The new, spacious labs were a lucrative addition for Stark Industries. It was a competitive market for research laboratories apparently, and Stark Industries was the top company to work for or with. Top universities clamoured for the chance. By hiring them out to researchers was apparently a competitive market, and hundreds of people wanted to be associated with SI. A whole wing was set up for Stark R+D that could not be completed in the Tower for safety or space reasons, so when Tony heard – through Pepper, of course – that Jane Foster was inquiring about research labs, he practically begged Pepper to say yes. “To anything she wants!”

Since the announcement that the world’s foremost astronomer was joining them, there had been people moving machines around in one of the larger laboratories in the new upstate facility. Steve had seen various technicians, electricians and workmen from Stark Industries coming in and out for weeks. He hadn’t asked, as he did not want to directly speak to Stark nor inconvenience Pepper, but he hoped that someone could clue him in to what was happening.

“Natasha!” He calls, and the redhead turns from her pad. “Is this all for Doctor Foster?” He motions around at the hubbub.

“Who else?” She asks, raising an eyebrow, a move that partly reminds him of Peggy.

“Curious. I didn’t know Stark was so eager to get her on board.”

Natasha side-eyes as she turns to keep walking, Steve keeping up easily. “He’s wanted Jane since her theories on the Einstein-Rosen Bridge would, very literally, lead somewhere.”

Steve nearly snorts in amusement. “And here I thought it was because he wants to get Thor here more.” When Natasha didn’t immediately respond, he felt the smile slip from his face. “Don’t tell me, that’s what he wants.”

“For a while, yes,” she admits slowly, turning to face him again. “But I think she saw through it. She doesn’t have much trust when working with people. Her involvement with SHIELD showed that.”

“She worked with SHIELD?”

“For a year, but when she left she took all the integral notes with her, so nobody could come along and take it all.”

Steve frowns. “Why’s that?”

“When Thor first came to Earth, SHIELD took control of her work, which she did not take kindly to-”

“I wonder why.”

“-did not take kindly to,” Natasha pointedly continues, “so despite promises that they’d keep her work safe, Dr Foster never really trusted them with the full scope of it. In the end, that turned out to be the wisest action, considering what happened.” She drops her chin to her chest; her eyes drift far away as they did when her thoughts turned towards her former occupation. Steve rests a hand on her shoulder, letting her know he was there, and the tiny smile that he receives let him know it was appreciated.

“I think she saw through the offer,” Steve says, “Tony can be easy to predict. I’m just surprised she’s coming now.”

“She’s a genius. There really isn’t another word for it and her work is wanted by the good guys and the bad. Working here where she has control is the best situation for her research. The safest hands are our own.” Natasha says, eyes darting across his face. They enter a briefing room where three files are spread out on the table. Natasha picks one up and hands it over to him. “One Jane Foster.”

Steve flips back the manila file and the cover page stating a code of numbers, letters and the doctor’s initials.

On the next page is her photograph, and upon seeing it for the first time, his world took on an uneasy twist and a wobble as a pair of rich brown eyes stare back at him.

_Who is this_?


	4. Upstate New York is the Place to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane and Darcy's arrival is nothing amazing, but many things can come from the unassuming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly more of a filler, but an introduction into the main focus of the story. No problematic themes in this chapter either.  
As you may have noticed, tenses have now changed, and there is a point to that. In the last three chapters, I wanted you 'with them' on the key dates, but from here on in, eveyrthing is likely to have a date, and be in one tense instead of jumping between them.
> 
> Usual disclaimer: I do not own the characters, names and places you recognise!

** _September 2015_ **

** **

Thor had promised there’d be help moving in all her machines and gadgets – of which there were many – so she and Darcy wouldn't have to lug them all into the new building. The drive up to it had taken a few minutes once they got through the extensive security. As they followed the driveway, both of them knew they were being watched; the sensation of eyes was strong. The large Avengers logo was bright white on the main building, displaying for all who entered just whose realm this was. The main doors were glass. In fact, it appeared the entire front was made from ceiling to floor windows, allowing anybody to see inside.

“I’d call _that _a security risk.” Darcy huffed under her breath; she was annoyed because her new iPod had been confiscated to check for any potential security risks. They’d promised it would be returned within a day but since SHIELD made off with her other one, she’d developed a tick about having it taken away; like Jane and her research, though she didn’t much like the comparison.

“Is there a doorbell?” Darcy asked sarcastically, waving at the glass. “Or should we just smack on the windows?”

Jane rolled her eyes at Darcy’s antics. “Just go up to the door. Something as high-tech as this should have automatic doors _at least_.” Darcy snorted and flounced away to the main doors, which didn’t move.

“Really? C’mon! I know Stark can be an ass, but dude, automatic doors _are _a thing!” She griped, huffily swinging her arms about. “I thought he wanted you here?”

“He _did_. But I said no first, remember?”

Darcy glared at Jane. “Oh, so he gets to be an ass?” She turned back to the door, and raised a fist to knock – likely with a lot of force – when they silently glided open, and a voice greeted them.

“Apologies for the delay, Doctor Foster, Ms Lewis. My systems were being updated with the voice patterns and profiles. Airman Wilson and Agent Romanoff are awaiting you in the atrium.” The voice had no body, and sounded as though it emanated from the building itself.

“Who’s talking?” Darcy snapped, frowning up at the building, trying to find a camera, something, to know who was spying on them and giving them that unnerving sensation of prying eyes.

“I am F.R.I.D.A.Y. I am a user interface that has been implemented throughout this building. I was created by Mr Stark, and I am here to serve all your needs, from regulating your room temperature, to managing and recording all of your scientific research.” The voice responded, a faint Irish lilt to it. Jane tensed at the idea of something downloading and saving all of her data with potential access to anyone.

“And if I wanted all that data stored and kept away from interference?” She asked warily, also eyeing the building like Darcy was.

“Then it shall be encoded with access given to you using whichever safety system you prefer.” The voice replied and Jane marginally relaxed, knowing it would be something she’d have to deal with before any science-ing could begin, but at least nobody could ever use her work to hold her to ransom. “Airman Wilson and Agent Romanoff are waiting for you in the atrium.” Jane looked to Darcy, who still frowned at the building and took her by the elbow, tugging her inside.

The building was as impressive inside as it was out. Open and formal, with sleek edges and sides. The atrium was black tile, also with high floor to ceiling windows that allowed people to view beyond the building, into the lush greenery outside and the river. There were areas sets aside for rest and relaxation, and the continuation of the main building into science and residential wings could be seen beyond them. Darcy’s eyes widened as she took the view in, and Jane wondered if this would be enough to curtail her censure of the place entirely.

“Doctor Foster, Miss Lewis, welcome to the Avengers Facility.” A black man with a kind smile approached them, hand out to shake, which Jane politely did so. “I’m Sam. Glad to have you on board. I know Tony’s been eager to have you here.”

“Yeah, for _Thor_.” Darcy grumbled, arms folded tightly over her chest. Jane turned to glare at her again, but she’d turned her head away to look into the atrium and across over the water.

“That’s Darcy, my lab assistant.” Jane’s smile was awkward, but the man brushed it off. “We were told Agent Romanoff would also be here.”

“She was, but something came up, if you get me.” Sam grinned knowingly and Jane chuckled.

“Special agent stuff. I get it, my aunt was the same.” She replied with a shrug. “Where can we get some help? I have quite a bit of machinery with me that needs moving.”

“Oh, we’ve got some grunts to do that, but I’m here to show you both to your rooms. Pepper insisted you live on site.”

Jane’s mouth dropped open wide, and shared a look of shock with Darcy. They missed Sam glancing up above them, and nodding.

“Don’t worry if you get lost. I’ve been here for a couple of months and still get turned around,” he reassured them, “but just ask F.R.I.D.A.Y, she’ll guide you.”

* * *

“Well?”

Steve didn’t flinch at Natasha’s voice. He kept his attention on the two women as they walked out of view. Sam had glanced up to acknowledge him while the women gaped at each other.

“_Well?_”

“Well, what?” He snapped, spinning to face her. Nat looked a little smug, her mouth quirked at the corner at how flustered he was.

“All this over a doctor you’ve never met? If I didn’t know you, I think I’d need to be reminding you she’s with Thor.” Steve’s face crumpled into an expression of disdain at the notion. As much as Nat was his friend, he didn’t know how she'd take it, because ti felt so ridiculous. Doctor Foster's eyes were just _eyes_. Brown, yes, and very much like Peggy’s that it pulled at his stomach. When he’d seen that photo of the good doctor, and felt his world twist, Steve wasn’t sure what to think. The eyes had been haunting him since.

“What is there to this that you’re not telling me?” Nat asked, settling herself in a plush chair before him. “There’s something. It’s eating you.” As usual, with that partly unnerving way of hers, Nat had cut through him to the bone. “You’re more obvious than you think.”

Steve groaned, making her smile in satisfaction. “Yeah, maybe I am too easy to read. Bucky always said I was.” He collasped into the chair across from her, tiredly rubbing his hands over his face. He remained still like that for several seconds, saying nothing. Nat copied him, her eyes on him, waiting for any little movement or twitch he might give her; there was one thing to be said for Steve, he could persist in being annoyingly still when he wanted. “It’s stupid.”

“Stupid enough that it’s distracted you for so long,” said Nat quietly, “it doesn’t seem stupid.

“Maybe, but…it’s stupid for me to let it get me like this,” he hissed, “just some pretty ideas that were buried in the ice, buried a long time ago.”

Nat kept silent, watching as he glared down at the carpeting beneath them. “Tell me.”

Steve lifted his head, and sullenly gazed at her from under his brows. “If you don’t, I’ll find out anyway. Just tell me.” Nat lightly teased with an impish smile that made him crack a faint one back. He reclined, relaxing into the upholstery of the chair; from the view of the grounds, he saw some pink carnations, standing proud in their new beds and swaying gently in the breeze beneath a broad oak tree.

“When I saw her photo, her eyes reminded me of Peggy. It…startled me.” Steve dropped his chin to his chest, fingers rubbing together at his sudden rise of nerves. “It made me think of something. A memory during the war.” He glanced up to see Nat still observing him, her face carefully blank. “Peggy once asked if I had ever thought about kids. I said I hadn’t, because of all the health problems. Even with the serum, I didn’t know what it could do. But, she talked about it, about names and said she liked the name Jane…seeing brown eyes like Peggy’s and her name just made me think of it again. Made me think of…what I wanted once, before all…” He gestured vaguely into the air, a sad smile on his face as he returned to looking at the pink flowers down below them, dancing merrily on. He saw that more flowers had been planted in the next bed: small and white with black centres. '_Poppies_,' he realised.

Nat regarded him for a moment longer before she finally decided what to say. “I don’t think it’s stupid. Considering what life's thrown at you, it was a painful reminder. No, I don’t think it’s stupid.” She stood up and left him alone and to his silence.

Steve peered out of the windows, but this time his mind whirled over those wintery memories in a bombed London, wishing, not for the first time, he was back in a decade he was near seventy years removed from.

* * *

“That’s everything!” Jane grinned, looking over her spacious new lab. The boxes were mainly concentrated on two of the desks, but the place would soon be in working order. From the windows, she could see the river, and a dock being constructed. To the right of it were flower beds, with pink carnations and white poppies beneath an oak tree. Jane thought it an odd choice in flora to have, or in fact to have any flowers around the facility; it didn’t seem like it would be a consideration in the design of the place as it wasn’t like it would be having outside visitors much.

“Yeah, all down and hopefully not broken. If I find anything broken I’m gonna…” Darcy clenched her firsts.

“Gonna what?” Jane asked hesitantly, peering back over her shoulder. Darcy didn’t move.

“Gonna whoop ‘em.” She said finally. With some rash movements, Darcy slipped out the pocket knife and slit open the tape. Jane left her to vent her frustrations out on the boxes, knowing that Darcy had valid feelings about the entire situation. She’d agreed to come along when told that Tony would not be around too much, since the Avengers’ break up, but she also did not like how the help treated Jane’s stuff, nor the fact her iPod had been taken again. Jane could hear her mumbling under her breath as she pulled out the data record system, all thankfully not broken.

“How is everything?” Sam walked in with a bright smile, arms wide as he gestured to the room.

“It’s…pretty awesome,” Jane praised, “I didn’t expect to have so much space.”

“Well, Tony was, let’s say excited to know you’d be supporting us and conducting your research here.” Sam admitted, almost bashfully. “I know that Thor wouldn’t have exactly…”

“Thor knows this safer. Since we had a Hydra mole in with us, he wants my work to be secure, and he trusts me to know what’s best for it. So yeah, while Tony may not be his favourite person right about now, he agrees that being here is best.” Jane explained, pulling out her notebooks and laptop to set up on the main desk. “Do you know where he is? I haven’t heard from him.”

“Still in Asgard.”

Jane bobbed her head, biting her lip as she looked back at her equipment. “Guess I’ll get back to this.”

Sam nodded, and turned to leave before halting in the doorway. “We don’t do this often, but we’re having a group meal tonight. We order take-out and just…relax. It’d be great if you could come along, both of you. Get to meet the team.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want to impose on team time-”

Sam waved his hand to stop her, “You’re part of the team. Steve insists on getting to know those who we work alongside, and it also means we can talk about other things and not just…saving the world stuff.”

Jane grinned, and once she accepted and thanked him for the offer, she turned around to find where Darcy had run off to. “Darcy! Take-out tonight!”

* * *

“They’re settled in?”

“Yeah, seem to be. Asked where you had run off to.”

“When I saw him freeze up at the mention of her arrival, I had to see what was wrong.”

“And?”

“Old memories. She seem concerned I wasn’t there?”

“Nah, but accepted when I said it was urgent. Said she understood.”

“Understood?”

“Special agent stuff. She said her aunt was the same.”

“Her _aunt_? She has no listed aunt.”

“That’s what she said.”


	5. Talks over Take-Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take-out time! Team talks and food seem like it should let everyone settle in perfectly well, right? Right?  
Well, perhaps not so much. Not with Captain America making Jane the focus of his attention. And then getting the Black Widow's interest; allies or no, that's really not what she wanted on her very first day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No major issues/triggers in this chapter. Just people talking, maybe arguing. If you feel there are, please comment and I'll add it!  
Disclaimer: I do not own the MCU, the comics, or anything you recognise!

** _20th September 2015_ **

** **

At night the Avengers Facility looked entirely different. With precisely positioned highlights at the corners, doorways, pathways, flower beds and trees it turned into a shade; a phantom blending with the inky-black, nothing more than glimpses of a hidden figure.

The inside was full of light. The atrium was lined with stark white lights, a guide along a walkway to a dining area. Jazz music hummed through the speakers, glasses clinked on the metallic table, and a bubble of voices floated down towards the doors as Darcy and Jane entered.

“Take-out?” Darcy hissed. “This seems a little, I don’t know, _formal_?” She pulled at her cable-knit sweater dress and twisted her scuffed converse-clad feet.

“You’re fine, I’m just in a flannel shirt.” Jane said, smoothing over her own clothes and taking a step forward.

“Yeah, but you’re _always _in a flannel shirt.” Darcy muttered to her back. Jane ignored her. They approached the dining table a little hesitantly. The voices cleared; Sam laughed at something Wanda said and Vision paid rapt attention to her gestures as she spoke.

“Hey! Glad you could make it!” Sam called cheerily, holding his beer up to acknowledge them. Jane and Darcy stood shoulder to shoulder, peering nervously at their new ‘team-mates’. “Guys, this is Dr Jane Foster, and her assistant, Darcy Lewis. I want you to make ‘em feel welcome!”

Vision dutifully retrieved two beers from the small fridge and popped the lids; he gave them both a tiny bow and polite ‘hello’. Darcy nearly snatched the bottle out of his hand and plopped onto a sofa beside Wanda. “This place might actually grow on me,” she said, “tell me there’s some fun stuff on around here?” Wanda looked startled to be addressed so casually, but she managed to smile back as Darcy kept talking. That was Darcy through and through. She could be testy when uncomfortable, but she’d make friends in no time with everyone.

Jane sipped anxiously on her beer. She had no idea where to start or who to talk to, but thankfully Sam came to her rescue. “I know, a little bit overwhelming, right?”

Jane chuckled, taking a bigger swig of her drink. “Just a bit.”

They stood in silence for a minute or two, drinking their beers and watching Darcy inveigle Wanda and Vision into some kind of drinking game. “Is er…is the Captain around? Thor said he’s here now, since the whole….Ultron thing.” Jane asked, unsure if she should even be speaking about what happened in Sokovia.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, he should be coming along. No idea where he is right now.” He turned to look at another set of doors, opposite to her entrance. “Guess he’s not ready.” Sam said with a shrug. Jane, however, could see a figure moving deeper in the hallway beyond the doors. They had broad shoulders and wore a dark shirt. They weren’t approaching the doors, but looked as though they were talking with someone she couldn’t see.

“Is Dr Banner around too? I’d really like to talk over some of his work. Erik – Dr Selvig – told me about his work on gamma radiation, and I’d love the chance to actually meet him and-”

“Whoa!” Sam laughs. “Slow down! Dr Banner is...he’s missing actually.”

“_Missing_?” Jane’s voice is shrill. “_How_ is he missing?”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, looking back over his shoulder at the doors. “Well, since the whole Ultron thing. He and Stark were the ones who made him, and then didn’t say anything, but after Sokovia…I don’t know, he up and left. Nobody knows where he is.” Jane stared at him, wondering just how something as big as that had been kept so quiet.

“Thor never said…he said nothing about that.”

Sam sighed and nodded again. “Yeah, Thor wouldn’t know. He left once Thor went back to London. From what Steve told me, Thor barely gave them the time of day.”

Jane sighed and her shoulders fell. “Yeah…he really hates what happened. He does! He just…he wants Tony to apologise, which I don’t think will happen because…well, he thought he was helping.”

“He was messing with technology he didn’t understand.”

“Yeah, he was. And I get that we should be able to advance our knowledge, I just…I don’t know. Considering what happened, in the end, I can’t help but feel Thor was right in telling him not to use it.”

Any further conversation halted when Captain America himself made his entrance. “Looks like the party’s started!” Sam cheered, holding his beer up in salute. The Captain waved away his friend with a bashful smile, and took a proffered beer from Vision.

Jane was a little star-struck; as a young girl she’d been obsessed with Captain America because of her mother’s work, and though time had dulled that obsession she couldn’t help the tiny spark of feeling she got from seeing him in person. She saw his strength, how each movement was full of ease and power, but done so calmly. He was clearly aware of his size, and she wondered if it was because of the immediate transition he went through when he became Captain America that made him so alert to his actions. 

“Steve! Come meet our newest team-mates!” Sam waved him over. Cap’s smile was genuine, Jane could tell, when he greeted Darcy; she only hoped her assistant waited a few days before making some funny remark to his face

“This is Doctor Jane Foster.” Sam gestured to her with a wide grin. She stepped forward, nearly stumbling over her own feet.

“Er, an honour to meet you, Captain.” She held out her hand, cheeks red from her awkwardness. He closed his hand around hers and they firmly shook them.

“And you, Thor’s speaks your praises a lot. Glad to have you with us, and please, call me Steve.” His words were easy and kind, but it was his expression that startled Jane; there was such an intensity to it that she wanted to shy away. It was like he was trying to work something out, but after a moment it was gone, and they parted. From behind him, she saw Natasha Romanoff scrutinising them. ‘_What is it that _she _sees?_’

“Airman Wilson, the take-out has arrived.” F.R.I.D.A.Y said from the ceiling. Sam, Darcy and Wanda cheered.

“Foods up!”

* * *

The Chinese take-out was pretty delicious; Jane hadn’t ever had such good take-out, and supposed the quality could have been due to who had ordered it. All seven of them sat around the black table, wine and beer being poured and loud, raucous conversations were being held at both ends.

“Thor’s never really explained how you met.” Wanda said, her wine glass in hand. The young woman hadn’t interacted much with her until the energy in the room relaxed. “He says it is a good story.”

Darcy snorted. She and Jane shared a look across the table. “Well, we were out in the desert and he kinda…just dropped out of the sky and I hit him with my car.” Everyone just gawked at her. Darcy was trying to stifle her giggles. “Really, I hit him with my car. And then Darcy tased him.”

It was Sam who started it. His loud guffaw echoed around the room and pulled everyone into it. “I can’t believe that’s true!” He said between laboured breaths. “I didn’t…I didn’t think he actually meant it!”

“It was legally Jane’s fault! She was driving!” Darcy protested, her glasses askew on her face. “I thought you said he hadn’t told?”

“He…he said you tazed him and Jane hit him, but I thought,” Sam had to inhale hard to stop laughing. “I thought he was joking! You hit him, Jane?”

She flushed and sank into her chair when Steve, Natasha and Wanda all looked at her. “Uh-huh.” Sam burst into another round of laughter. Darcy and Wanda followed suit. 

Their conversations soon mellowed out and relaxed. They asked about her work, about Asgard and what it was like. It felt so friendly and jovial that Jane didn’t feel uncomfortable. Not too much; all while she was talking, Jane had the feeling of eyes on her. She covertly glimpsed around the table, trying to find who it was, but couldn’t. When Vision suggested they retired to the couches, the feeling went away until they sat back down; Jane finally caught the Captain. He had his hand against his cheek, supporting his face as he watched over his knuckles.

“Fortune cookies!” Darcy cheered, throwing the box onto the coffee table. She and Sam dove right in, cookies flying everywhere. Wanda snatched two before they hit the floor, floating them to her and Vision.

“_Love is right around the corner_? Ugh!” Darcy launched the paper onto the table, and sulkily fell back into the couch. Sam burst out laughing again as he split his open.

“_A gathering of friends will bring you luck_. Aw c’mon man.” Sam flopped back next to Darcy, mirroring her pose.

“_Happiness may be right under your nose_.” Wanda’s smile was wistful as she read her fortune; she crumpled the little paper in her hand and bowed her head. Her hair draped to cover her face. The team let her have a moment.

“I do not quite understand why these are taken so seriously,” Vision said as he twisted his between his fingers.

“Just do it!” Darcy said loudly, throwing the remnants of her shell at him.

“_Somebody appreciates the unique you_.” Darcy and Sam ‘oohhed’, sharing a look of false surprise. “How apt, as I am not quite definable in human terms.”

“Way to get serious, Vision,” Sam complained, “you now Natasha. Or do super-spies not do fortune cookies?”

Natasha regarded him with amusement. “Well, I do prefer being the teller of fortunes, but I’ll do it one time.” She reached and plucked a case nimbly from the table.

“_Just have fun_.”

The entire room fell apart. The laughter was so loud Jane was sure the glass panes would rattle from their frames; Natasha didn’t look flushed, but she glanced away, a tiny smile on her lips as she took a hefty drink of her beer.

“That’s perfect! Oh my _Lord_, couldn’t have been better!” He wiped his eyes. “You now Steve.” Sam crowed, falling back into the cushions. “Let’s see what’s in the cards for Captain America!”

Steve smiled faintly, and cracked the shell easily. He unfurled the paper slowly and his gaze stayed firm on the words as he read the fortune; he was silent long enough that the others grew concerned. “Nothing bad, right?” Sam asked. “They aren’t true anyway, man. What’s it say?”

“_You have not lost everything; there is always something to be found anew_.” Steve didn’t look up. He kept the paper between his hands, watching as if the words would change. The room realised how heavy that was, particularly for him of all people and kept silent.

“Janey! You! Open!” Darcy said, pulling attention away from Steve and to her. Jane picked up the last cookie, crushed it and unravelled her fortune.

Hers was cryptic, but it also felt like it would actually mean something; there was perhaps some truth to its advice she needed to heed.

“_Remember yesterday, but live for today. Fate will guide you_.”

* * *

Darcy was hungover; her hair was messily tied back in a loose bun and her head was down on her desk. She, Wanda and Sam had continued drinking after take-out, but was paying the price now. Jane smiled fondly and turned to setting up her recording system and meteorological devices. For twenty minutes, she worked in silence while Darcy napped. Jane kept a smooth rhythm. Pick up and set down. Connect. Test. Run again. Leave to work and on she went.

“Busy?”

“Crap!” Jane whirled in shock; Natasha Romanoff smirked from the doorway, her lean and stance completely self-assured. “Oh…uh, hi.”

Natasha watched her. “Hi.”

Jane worried her lip, uncertain how to proceed with a conversation with a spy, “Can I help you with something?”

Black Widow shrugged, letting her head fall to the side. “Sam mentioned something last night.”

‘_And when did he do that?_’ Jane wondered. She arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“He said you told him your aunt was a special agent.” Natasha pushed into the room, the doors whooshed shut behind her.

_‘Now I feel a little trapped.’_

“I did,” Jane began, turning back to diligently calibrating her meteorological tracking system. “We didn’t see her often. She’d be called away sometimes. It wasn’t a secret.” Jane’s eyebrows twitched down briefly; she knew now where Peggy had worked, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to say anything about it. She glanced sidelong at the other woman; she was playing with a pen resting on the table. ‘_I bet she can read me easily.’_

“Did she work with SHIELD?” Nat asked, tapping the pen irksomely.

Jane clenched her teeth. "I know she worked in DC, and that her work was classified.”

“When?”

Jane stilled. “In the sixties,” she said, “why?” She hoped her voice stayed light and airy because it wouldn’t be good to upset a former assassin.

The doors whirred open again. She was saved! Captain Rogers marched into her lab, jaw set and mouth in a grim line. He didn’t look happy, and Jane couldn’t help the same cautious feeling come over her as it had last night. Regardless, she perceived that strength again in the sure and easy way he moved, in each certain footstep; in fact, he reminded her of her mother for that. They almost walked the same.

His blue eyes were timeless, almost like Thor’s, if only more human. Right now, they narrowed on the redhead and looked mightily displeased.

“Nat.” He jerked his head to the corridor. Black Widow sighed. She slinked around his large form, giving him a sly glance as she did and left the room.

“Doctor.” He bobbed his head in acknowledgement and left as quick as he arrived.

Jane just gaped at the door. “What just happened?”

* * *

“_Why _are you interrogating her?”

Nat scowled minutely at her follower. “I wasn’t interrogating.”

Steve caught her arm and spun her around to face him. His forehead was lined in his own scowl as he glared down at her. “You were. You were asking about her family.”

“She has an aunt that’s not listed, an aunt that worked for the government. For all we know she might have connections in all the wrong places.” Natasha argued, snatching her arm back. “I want to know we haven’t missed anything.”

Steve paced away. He knew she had a point. “Thor has vouched for her, and I don’t think she’ll be trying to sabotage the team. She came here _because _of a Hydra mole. Why would she even bother to be here if she was working for them?”

“Her file doesn’t have all the facts, Rogers. That is a problem.”

He growled in frustration. “She may not have an aunt; it could easily be some family friend that she called ‘aunt’. Not everything is so black and white, Natasha.”

“Then I want to be certain of that. Plus,” she strode up to him steadily, “I’ve been watching you. You’re uncomfortable around her. I take that to be a problem.”

“I told you why.”

Natasha shook her head. “You can cover yourself better than that, Rogers. I’ve seen you do it. But with her? You couldn’t stop watching her.” She took a few steps away from him, then turned around. “I am going to find out what I want to know.”

Steve watched at her retreating form. She wasn’t wrong; there was _something _about Dr Foster that didn’t sit right with him. He just didn’t think it was because she was some kind of enemy. In fact, he didn’t want to even think about what it might be.

He searched his pocket and pulled out the strip of paper, and read the words again: ‘_You have not lost everything; there is always something to be found anew_’.

He had speak with someone.


	6. Tis but a Scratch!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What can possibly happen inside Jane's first week? Well, undisguised interest from the Captain and the Black Widow. And now, this mess? Jane doesn't really know what 'smooth sailing' feels like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think in this chapter there are some minor-PTSD like triggers/moments that Jane has. So please be aware of that. Other than that, mentions of gunfire, implied explosions etc. Please message if I need to add triggers.  
Comments would be appreciated, so I know that you're enjoying this story; even if it's just smiley face or a thumbs up!

** _2nd October 2015_ **

** **

Alarms were new.

Jane jerked upright from her bed, eyes darting all over the room; nothing was flashing, nothing looked damaged. The alarm pulsed every ten seconds, she counted. She scrambled to turn her bedside light on and find her slippers.

“Ow!” She yelped as she smacked her toe into the bedframe; limping, she made it to her apartment door and yanked it wide. Darcy had a fist raised to knock. “What’s going on?”

Darcy was wide-eyed in panic. “Kinda hoped you’d know.” She turned to face the hallway, and Jane peered out; further down the hall, other workers were hurrying out the doors that led into another hallway that eventually led towards the atrium.

“They’re all dressed.” Jane said, staring at everyone running around them.

“Move it!” A voice shouted from behind. Darcy and Jane parted, two more technicians charged past, also clothed in their work gear.

They followed behind timidly, hopping to the side any time another worker or technician came storming their way. From their left was another corridor, and another person appeared right in front them. “_Oh_!”

“Er, hi.” Jane said awkwardly; she realised she was still in her PJs, one of Thor’s large plain tees and an old scruffy pair of comfy pants, and that this was Dr Helen Cho, world-renowned geneticist. She groaned internally. “You're Dr Cho! I'm so sorry to meet you dressed like this; I’m Doctor Jane Foster, and this is Darcy, my assistant.”

The woman smiled slightly, and reached out her hand. “Doctor Foster, Erik speaks highly of you! I would’ve introduced myself sooner, but I’ve been pretty busy.” Jane returned the smile.

“I know how that feels. Forget the rest of the world exists.”

Helen’s smile turned into a beaming grin. She nodded. “Very true, but right now I need to be getting back down there.”

“What’s actually happening?” Darcy asked, hands open to the ceiling. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, it’s the emergency alarm; the team is needed on a mission,” said Helen, “normally they’re scheduled, but occasionally they get missions like this: immediate response needed. I head down to the infirmary, in case of any injuries.”

Darcy and Jane shared an uneasy glance. “Well, don’t let us stop you.” Jane said and stepped out of the way.

Helen responded in kind. “It was lovely meeting you. Hopefully we get to sit down and actually have a better talk. See you later!”

They watched her walk through the doors and for a brief moment they saw Captain America conversing with Sam; Jane perceived the tense expressions on their faces as the doors swung shut. “Well, we should probably…head to bed.”

“Yeah, absolutely!” Darcy agreed, turned on her heel and ran for her door. Jane sighed as she hurried away; she went back into her suite and fell face first onto the bed. Sleep came easily.

* * *

“_Aagghh!_”

Jane jolted out of bed again, this time ending on the floor. “Damn it!” She hissed. Awkwardly, she heaved herself from the ground, untangled her legs from the blankets and stood up. Alarms were blaring again. “This is great, _just _great.”

Her door slammed into the wall. “Jane!”

“What the-? What the hell are you doing, Darce?” Jane demanded, running into her living room. “What’s wrong?”

Darcy was freaking out; she barrelled into Jane and yanked her along by the wrist. “No time to talk! We gotta get out of here!”

“What?” Jane panted, stumbling as they ran. “It’s just the alarms again-”

“_No_! These are different!” Darce snapped. “Listen!” They halted and Jane focused on the sound. The other alarm was sequenced every ten seconds; these were much quicker and she finally heard the words: ‘_Intruder alert_’.

“Oh god,” Jane whispered and Darcy nodded.

“See why we’re running?”

They ran. Down the hallway, out into the atrium again and towards to the doors that led to the dining area. Instead, Darcy dragged Jane to a set of glass doors, hidden by the shadow of the stairs. “D’you have your card? Jane!” With some fumbling, Jane fished her card from the PJ-pants – in case of any late night ‘_eureka!_’ moments – and opened the doors. They ran some more, other lab assistants joining them. The corridor was soon crowded by underdressed personnel, pushing their way down to a set of metal doors.

They were stamped with ‘_EMERGENCY SHELTER_’ and everyone was heading for them. Inside it was a set of wide stairs that went down, opening into a broad room; it was utilitarian, filled with basic amenities, blankets, cots, foodstuffs. There were small bathrooms off to one side but other than that, not much else. About twenty people were in with them, choosing blankets and cots. Jane tried to name a few faces but had no idea who most of these people were; lab technicians that set up the workspaces, maybe a few sent ahead of their research group.

“C’mon,” Darcy whispered, “let’s huddle.” She shuffled over to the blankets and grabbed the last two; with a swirl she wrapped it about her shoulders and cuddled into it. Jane accepted the other but held it limply in her hand as they collapsed onto the firm cots.

“I didn’t read this in the paperwork.” Darcy said, hand pressed over her eyes to block out the LED lights. “This better not be every week.”

Jane gave her friend a wry smile. “Like being with me has ever been smooth sailing, Darce.”

“You got me there.”

* * *

Nobody slept. Nothing was heard above their heads. No booms. No bangs. No explosions or gunfire. ‘_Intruder alert_’ _meant people had got in, right? But did that mean the building or the grounds?_’ Jane’s mind whirled at a million miles a second, her hands tensing and stretching as her stomach twisted. The technicians inside with them mumbled nervously, heads swaying back and forth as they conversed. It set Jane on edge more; her hands clenched, unclenched. Relaxed. Tensed. Relaxed again.

“_I heard they’re aiming for the labs.”_

_“How do you know?”_

_“Alex and his team were shifted from there first; said that’s the side they came from._”

Jane froze. Her notes. Her notes were still in the lab; she hadn’t uploaded her earlier data onto F.R.I.D.A.Y but all her integral notes and calculations were in the lab. ‘_It’s locked. It’s solid, fire-proof, and bullet-proof. They can’t get in. No, no-no-no-no-no, they can’t_.’ She surged to her feet and before anybody could stop her, she ran back up the stairs, through the doors and out into the deserted corridor.

It was easier to get out than to get in. Nobody was pushing, the doors opened automatically upon sensing her presence; the atrium was empty and she saw no intruders, but distantly she heard a _boom_. It was muted, probably beyond the river. They were close then, and on the side nearest to the labs, just like the gossipers said.

Jane jogged to the doors that led to the laboratories; she hurried past Stark R+D, past the empty labs loaned to Harvard, around a corner – ‘_Oh no.’_

Cold dread surged up her throat and down her arms. Voices; a murmur, two or three. A _thump _as something connected with the fire doors. She picked up her pace and skidded to her doors; slapped her card once, _twice _on the pad. Jane charged inside, her notebook was open on her desk. Her shaking hands scooped it up to her chest.

The shriek of metal ripped through her concentration. “_Look through each room! Leave nothing untouched! I want that research found!” _A voice demanded.

Jane’s heart thumped painfully against her ribs; over her shoulder, she saw the fire doors were warped from their frames, bent inwards unnaturally. Three men stood there, guns raised. A panicked squeak left her as she buckled to the floor, hiding. Everything else was on the computers, and she had to hope F.R.I.D.A.Y was impregnable. “It’s made by Stark, of _course _it is!” She whispered.

A pound of metal on glass jolted her. She dashed across the floor, clinging to the shadows of the desks. There was a door at the back, dark and solid. Another pound and a rainfall of shards hit the floor. Jane forced herself beneath a table, over the central bar and into the gloom. Boots crunched on the glass, and it echoed into her head. A memory of glass, tinkling. Raining.

_‘…Mom.’ _

_‘No! Focus!’_

Blinking, Jane scrambled back. Into the wall furthest from the corridor. They’d hit the glass with something hard. It was near indestructible, but now it was glinting pieces on the floor. “Have you found it?_” _The severe voice asked.

“Not yet!_”_

_“_Hurry up! I don’t want to be here any longer than necessary_.”_

Jane swallowed harshly; she kept her eyes on the figures moving through the hall and into the lab opposite. ‘_Empty, they’ll look in here._’ She had to move. Now, or never. Now or be found. Now or be dragged who knew where. Carefully, she stretched her foot out from the shadows, following with the other; notebook tight in hand as she slinked along the wall. The door was so close.

“Pah! Get this lab open!_”_

She froze. ‘_Are the doors shut? They had to be, else they’d already be in_!’ The impact onto the glass spooked her; the crash of glass splinters clouded her mind. ‘_Mom! MOM!’_

_‘Focus!’_

Her jaw clenched; she squeezed her eyes shut and focused on the footsteps. “This could be it!_”_

_“_Finally! Now get me the research!_”_

Two thugs marched inside and right over to her computer. Jane hoped F.R.I.D.A.Y would block them out. They typed, groaned, swore; typed more. Each time the computer denied access. The screen lit up red and in the brief glow, she saw the face of a man, hovering in the smashed doorway. Pale haired, sour faced, and gun in hand.

The door was behind her now. She could feel the ridge of the frame and smooth metal; the brutes at the computer swore again. Slowly, eyes on the men, Jane reached a hand up to the lever and pulled.

It didn’t move.

Again, with more strength.

It didn’t budge.

A distant _thud _drew everyone’s attention. Chatter burst from a radio, “_Lieutenant Elembayev, they’ve returned. Thor is with them._”

Jane’s heart lightened. If she could hold out – “Crap!” She hissed as her foot made contact with a metal cylinder, left over from moving in. It rattled onto the floor; all three turned to her position.

“You, look_._” The pale one commanded with a sharp nod. The smaller one, younger likely, raised his gun and Jane had to think fast. She wrapped her hand around the metal cylinder, and pressed back against the wall in a crouch. The man approached slowly; his knees were unprotected and with a quick snap, she struck.

“_Ugh!_” He dropped to the floor. Jane swung down over his head and he went lax. She skated into another corner, closer to the door.

“Dooley? Now is not the time!” The pale haired man stalked forward and the second man remained with the computer.

“_Incoming on your position._” The radio crackled; indeed, down the corridor she could hear the sounds of a fight. It was closing in fast, and the men would soon hear it. The metal cylinder was still in her hand and the doorway was empty. She could make it. The pale haired man found his lackey, and kicked him. “Waste of time, this one.”

She shimmied along the wall, her fingers curled over the doorframe, tiny shards dug into her fingertips. She braced herself, breathed in, out, in…she jumped to her feet and twisted around the door. The men shouted in surprise.

Jane always hated exercise; never kept to anything more than a morning jog, yet she could outsprint the athletes, even if it was only by a small bit, lift heavy weights that someone with her svelte frame frankly shouldn’t. She thanked every deity above for her speed now. The men behind her were still shouting but all Jane needed was to reach the doors at the end of the hallway. She reached the corner when a sharp pain seared through her trailing arm.

Ignoring the pain, Jane kept running and the doors were dead ahead. She slammed through them and there, middle of the room, was Steve and-

“_THOR_!”

His grin was beautiful and his unearthly blue eyes blazed upon seeing her. Jane continued her run, stumbling over bits of debris, ripped upholstery from chairs, and wooden frames. “You’re here!” His embrace was warm and relaxing; she let herself sag into his arms and breathe.

“My dear Jane,” he sighed into her hair. “I am glad to- you are injured!” Jane twitched in his arms as he lifted his left hand. There, across his fingers, was a smearing of blood and the pain sparked back into her mind.

“There were men in my lab. They wanted research.” She said, glancing between Thor and the Captain; both had dark scowls on their faces. “I think they wanted mine.”

The Captain nodded. “We’ll check it out. Sam!” With a single gesture of his fingers, he and Sam marched the way Jane came, shoulders back and posture stiff, ready to fight whoever was left.

* * *

Thor hurried Jane down into the infirmary, which was relatively empty.

“Jane! Oh my god, do _not _run off like that again!” Darcy crashed into Jane’s chest in a massive hug. Jane would’ve fallen onto her behind had Thor not been propping her up.

“Sorry, Darce. I couldn’t just leave my notebook lying around,” Jane said quietly, lowering her head to Darcy’s ear. “I think they wanted it.”

Darcy didn’t react to Jane’s words, but blinker her understanding as they pulled apart. “Hey, big guy! Long time, no see!”

Thor managed a weak smile. “I am glad to see you as well, shield-sister, but first your healers must tend Jane. She is hurt.”

“It’s a scratch!” Jane said indignantly. “I hardly feel it.”

“I’ll be the one to determine that!” Helen reprimanded, pushing along a trolley with antiseptic wipes and bandages. “Sit here.”

For then minutes, the good doctor poked and prodded the wound, cleaning away the blood to see it. “Looks like a flesh wound,” said Helen, “missed the bone, no serious damage to the muscle tissue; it’ll take a few weeks to heal up.” She pressed down carefully on the white bandage and gave Jane a caring smile. “Take it easy. No running for stray notebooks when under attack.”

Jane laughed softly. “I’ll try.”

Helen gave her an amused but dubious squint from over her shoulder as she disposed of the bloodied wipes. “I mean it when I say give it three to four weeks. No strenuous activities, nothing that’ll pull on it.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t take that long.” Jane hopped of the bed and circled to the exit. “Thanks doc.”

“It won’t take long?” Helen asked. She frowned at Jane when she turned around. “How do you mean?”

“Oh, I’ve always healed fast. One of those things.” Jane shrugged. With a wave, she left the infirmary and a confused Helen behind.

* * *

“How many injuries?”

“Ten in total; three serious, seven minor.”

“I heard Doctor Foster got caught up in some action.”

“She did.”

“Injured?”

“She was, but only minor. She’ll heal soon.”

“And how soon is soon, doctor?”

“As a medical professional, I say about four weeks. She said it wouldn’t.”

“Oh? Why’s that.”

“I do not know. She said that she’s always healed fast.”


	7. Tis Not a Scratch?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time moves on from the attack, and things all seem normal. Except perhaps Jane's healing, which is hard to hide and is under intense focus from a few around her...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly more like a filler, but it is needed to help move along. Nothing too triggering in here, but there is talk of injuries (minor) and some minor PTSD-like triggers/mentions of parental death, but rather brief.  
If you like it, please comment on what you did!

** _3rd October 2015_ **

Steve was tired. They’d had to deal with the fallout of the attack until pink streaks danced over the eastern horizon. He’d intended to fly down to DC to see Peggy, but he soon realised that wouldn’t be possible after seeing the damage in the labs; Doctor Foster’s labs was one of two nearest the fire doors and both had been broken into. It seemed the good doctor was right, they had wanted her research as only the doors had been smashed in, but the computer had clearly been in use. Though F.R.I.D.A.Y had denied access, it left no doubt that her work at least was still a target.

Not being able to see Peggy was disappointing. He hadn’t seen her since after SHIELD fell; he felt like an ass for it, but Sharon kept him up to date with how she was. Told him she asked for him often, that she hoped he was alright.

‘_It’s not like I know what to ask her,_’ he thought. All he had was a strange reaction to seeing a woman, a sense of _knowing _that he shouldn’t even have. How was he meant to ask Peggy about a matching pair of eyes in the face of a scientist she probably didn’t know, and what did it mean?

With a heavy sigh, Steve lumbered into his suite, dropping his shield and cowl as he did. The few possessions he’d collected in his new life decorated a bookshelf to the left of the door, and there was a blue blanket resting across the back of his grey couch. He rarely used his kitchenette, preferring to use the catering spaces or the private dining area, but he remembered there was orange juice in his refrigerator. He wanted to taste something other than his parched, dry throat.

“They were going after Doctor Foster’s research.”

Steve groaned. He’d known he wasn’t alone; he could feel a presence sitting at his small table.

“They trashed the labs pretty good. Even smashed that un-smashable glass,” he said, pouring juice into a glass. He leaned back opposite her; Natasha held such a feline pose, her leg bobbing back and forth across her near, one pristine eyebrow arched. “She was injured too.”

“Had something interesting to say to Doctor Cho, though,” she replied, “about healing fast.”

Steve paused and took a sip. “That could mean anything,” he sighed. He swirled the juice around the glass, watched the pulp spin.

“Are you sure?” Natasha asked evenly, her lips twitching into an odd smirk. “What do you think it could mean?”

“_I _think it means she’s not linked to Hydra,” he said wearily, he rubbed his hands over his face. “Which I’ve been saying from the start.” He gulped down the last of the juice, set the glass by the sink and pushed off from the counter. “I’d like to head to bed. Busy night an’ all.” He didn’t give her chance to answer. Instead he stalked to his room, but he turned just inside the doorway and zeroed in on her. “If you really want to investigate her, do it carefully. I don’t think Thor’ll take too kindly, an’ I don’t want to see how angry he’ll get.”

Natasha blinked owlishly at him. “I’m always careful.”

* * *

** _16th October 2015_ **

** **

Jane was on a roll; her readings were fantastic, and indicated that another promising cosmological event was on its way. In the background, she could hear as Darcy tapped away at her laptop, writing up notes for a potential paper, oblivious to world around her; Jane left her to it. They worked in silence for an hour, when F.R.I.D.A.Y activated.

“Doctor Foster?”

Jane flinched. She wasn’t quite used to a voice speaking at random with no body. “Yes?”

“Doctor Cho is requesting your presence in the infirmary to conclude treatment for your injury.” F.R.I.D.A.Y replied. Jane gave it a moment, but the system didn’t talk again. With a long-suffering sigh, she pushed away from the desk and shuffled to Darcy.

“Hey, Darce?” Jane tapped her on the shoulder.

Darcy jumped out of her skin. “_Christ_, Janey!”

She scowled as Jane rolled her eyes. “I only tapped your shoulder; I need to go to the infirmary, Doctor Cho wants to check my arm.”

Darcy snorted and pulled her earphones out, eyeing Jane with sarcastic look. “There’s nothing there to check.”

“I know. I told her not to bother but you know doctors, what are you gonna do?” She shrugged, waved goodbye and trotted off to the infirmary.

\---

It took Jane longer than necessary to find her way. Last time Thor had practically dragged her there and she never really saw the direction either after the debacle was over. After conceding and asking F.R.I.D.A.Y, Jane found the infirmary on the opposite side of the building to the R+D labs. The doors were all glass, like much of the building was, and the corridor was stark white. At least it didn’t smell too sterile and bring back memories of wires, tubes and needles. ‘_Not now, don’t think of that now_.’

“Ah! Jane! Thank you for coming. Hop onto a bed for me.” Helen Cho smiled genially as she gathered up her necessary equipment.

“No problem, though there isn’t gonna be much for you to look at.” Jane heaved herself onto a bed and let her legs swing back and forth gently. “Fast healing and all that.”

Doctor Cho glanced up amusedly at her patient. “I’ll be the judge of that.” She snapped on her latex gloves and peeled back the sleeve of Jane’s tee. “Oh.”

“Not much to see, right?” She grinned, peering down at Helen’s face. “Fast healing.” The doctor stood up and looked Jane right in the eyes.

“Is this because of your experience with the Aether?”

Jane shook her head. “No. No, I’ve always healed quickly, I’ll show you.” She twisted her palm up and pointed to a thin line, evidently a scar. “See that? I knocked a tumbler off my coffee table yesterday, caught myself with a shard.”

“That’s not possible.” Helen said disbelievingly, her eyes scanning Jane up and down. “We do not have the capacity to heal that fast. Not without intervention.” She stepped away and paced, her right hand pressed against her mouth as she thought. “Can I do some bloodwork? If this is as natural as you say it is, it’d be a marvellous discovery! This could change the understanding of the healing process; it could change medicine as we know it!”

“Whoa!” Jane leapt to her feet, eyes wide in alarm. She wasn’t going to be a guinea pig. “No, no-no-no, I don’t want that.”

“Why not?” Helen snapped indignantly. “This could help so many people across the globe!”

Jane glared darkly and straightened into her most authoritative stance. “I am _not _going to do a blood test. And I don’t like being guilt-tripped either. Other than my mom, I am the odd one out in this. Find someone else.”

Helen sighed in frustration and roughly brushed at lose strands of hair. “Would your mother consent to one?”

“Ha, no.” Jane snorted derisively and turned away; she felt tears build in the corners of her eyes, dark reminders of what happened after…

“Why not?” Helen pressed.

“She’s dead.”

Jane nearly ran from the room and all the way to her lab. She scanned her way in, slapped her card on the desk and collapsed onto it; her hair spilled over her arms as she curled them about her head and wept.

* * *

Helen Cho couldn’t let go of the new knowledge she had. It was an amazing ability to have and to ignore the medical possibilities that could come from this discovery was tragic. She also knew she couldn’t begin bloodwork without her patient’s consent. Frustrated, she stared at the wall, slouched over her desk in the infirmary. She was so distracted that she didn’t notice the doors open and a person approaching. “Doctor Cho?”

“Huh, wha?” She jolted, thumping her elbows against the surface. Standing before her was Agent Romanoff; Helen felt her cheeks burn. “I’m sorry. I was…distracted.” She pretended to neaten her desk, grabbed a pencil that had rolled to the side and set it beside her tablet and notebook. “Can I help you?”

“I just saw Doctor Foster leaving. She seemed to be in a hurry, and upset.”

Helen’s shoulders fell. “Oh, I think that was my fault. I was being inconsiderate. The topic of her mother came up. I pressed her.” She sighed remorsefully; she hadn’t meant to upset Jane, and a scientific discovery was no excuse to be unkind.

Agent Romanoff arched an eyebrow questioningly. “Why did that come up?”

“It was her check-up. And it was like she said: she healed fast. There isn’t even a scar and she must be using it without issue.” She sighed again and sat forward in her chair. “She showed me an injury to her hand. With the naked eye, it looked about a week old, yet she claimed she did it only yesterday.”

“And that’s not normal.” Natasha said and Helen nodded.

“Not at all.”

The other woman strolled before Helen’s desk and skimmed her eyes over the accolades on the wall: her doctorate, awards and certificates. “Is there any way to verify where this ability came from?”

“Not without bloodwork and she was _vehemently _against it,” Helen replied softly, “I can’t think of how to convince her what this could mean for the medical community.”

“There could be more to this,” Natasha began, peering enigmatically at the doctor. “Her healing abilities had to come from somewhere, and the not knowing where is a very real problem.”

Helen swallowed, and chewed on her lip nervously. “What do you suggest?”

“We have her bloodwork on file. Nobody could work for SHIELD without providing a blood sample in case of any accidents.” Helen didn’t want to know what Agent Romanoff meant by that. “I have no doubt you can find it again.”

“If SHIELD had it, why didn’t they find this? From my understanding, they analyse any biological sample they receive, personnel or not.” Helen queried, watching the agent as she paced lazily.

“Normally,” Natasha admitted slowly, “but I don’t know how this never was.” She halted in front of the desk, and stared at the floor unblinkingly. “Find out. Use the sample we have.”

“I can’t do it without her permission!” Helen stressed, her voice tight with emotion; she clenched her fists on the desk as she sat upright. “It’s unethical!”

Natasha’s eyes were severe as they turned onto her and Helen had to shrink back a little. “This is a matter of security. Do it.”

* * *

For the next week, everything ran smoothly at the Avengers compound. No one attacked, missions ran without issue, science went uninterrupted. New research groups arrived to take up residence in their lab spaces, with the main researchers living on site in the small residences. Others had to live away in the nearby town, which meant Darcy was often invited out to bar crawls and parties with other interns and lab-people.

The cosmological event Jane had observed came and went; the readings added to her data and she’d use them in her next round of simulations. Thor came back twice, but was called away on missions, meaning she didn’t really get to spend much time with him; she focused on her work, writing up equations and formulas.

In the medical research lab, Helen Cho, was analysing Jane’s blood sample. Her eyes darted from the microscope to the computer and back again several times. What she was getting back she had only seen once before from a small DNA sample that Doctor Banner had used some years ago.

Helen accessed his data files, and spent the next hour going through reams of DNA samples. Finally she found it and brought it alongside Jane’s. It was a _match_. The problem was that Bruce had said he had no idea where the sample had come from, just that it was provided to him by General Ross in his research into gamma radiation and the super-soldier serum, who never said how it came into his possession.

Helen peered at it for a time, hoping the answer would leap out and tell her what she was missing. There was something there within the strands that appeared to bolster them, strengthen them; it was weaker in Jane’s than the other, but it was enough that her cells would likely be different to another person’s. Helen pulled up her own sample and compared; Jane's sample was indeed different. On a whim, she compared Jane's to the unknown sample. Her computer bleeped as programmed when matches had been found. '_What?_'

She clicked into the alert.

“Oh my god.”

Somehow, General Ross had DNA from Jane Foster’s mother.


	8. Peggy's Smile?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Sam head for Washington, and Steve comes away from seeing Peggy feeling worse than before.   
But maybe Sam can help him make the connection he just keeps missing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does have a panic attack in it in the first part, so if reading that is harmful, please read from "Sup, man?" as that is where the panic attack ends. As usual if you think I have missed any Triggers, please message me!  
I also do not own anything you recognise.   
Comment if you enjoyed it!

** _16th October 2015_ **

The streets below the window were bustling; people going here and there, cars zipped up and down the street, the faint scent of honeysuckle wafted in the breeze. Life was continually moving, a complete antithesis to how Steve felt as he idly watched. Propped against the wall with an arm above his head, he mused on the normality other people had, that he once had and-

“Stop thinking so hard.” A voice croaked.

With a slight jolt, Steve looked over his shoulder at the bed; Peggy gazed at him with kind eyes and if she had the strength, he’s sure she would have held her hand to him. “I can hear you from here.”

Steve huffed a laugh and returned to the bedside chair. She was better today than last time he visited and for that he was grateful. “You know me, get wrapped up in my thoughts.”

“Mmm,” she shifted under the blankets, “it isn’t good for you. To keep thinking about it.”

“Thinking about what?”

“Before,” she exhaled, “before all this.” Her frail hand gestured vaguely, her deep brown eyes focused on him knowingly. “I thought you said you wouldn’t do it?” Steve knew he’d not made that exact promise, and if he had he doubted she’d remember. He wasn’t sure what hurt worse. “Is there something on your mind?”

_‘Plenty_.’

There was plenty on his mind but he didn’t really want to talk about it, or explain it. He didn’t want to think any more than he had about it nor think about why Natasha was so determined to dig deeper. “There was an attack at the new compound. Hydra.” He said, focused on his lap. He heard her sigh, but he didn’t want to see her eyes and the sympathy because he hadn’t wiped out Hydra like he thought, that he sacrificed himself for nothing, lost the chance at life with her for-

“Was it bad?”

He shook his head. “No, we dealt with it. Thor turned up and they scattered, but they were after a scientist’s work. She was trapped in her lab with three of them, but she got away.”

“Oh? What was it they wanted?” Peggy asked, her eyes bright with curiosity. Steve settled back into his seat and lifted his eyes to the ceiling above the clock.

“Some astrophysics stuff, I don’t know exactly. Dr Foster’s been targ-”

“_Foster_?”

His eyes glanced sharply at her; she was struggling to sit up but her eyes were more alive than he’d seen since he woke up. Again he was painfully reminded of the time he’d lost. “Who is it? A woman?”

Steve’s stomach swooped. Peggy clearly knew the name, “Yeah, a young woman, Dr Jane Foster. She’s quite prominent…Pegs, are you okay?” Her eyes had glazed over and stared at nothing in particular. Worried that he’d lost her again, he carefully took her hand and gently caressed it. “Peggy?”

“Jane? Of course, little Janey. Such a clever girl.”

“Huh?” He scrunched up his face, confused. “Do you know her, Pegs?”

Her nod was shaky, and her hands clenched in the same way he remembered when she got anxious. “Yes…I knew her family. I knew her gran-” her voice wobbled, “her grandmother. I was her aunt, but I haven’t seen her in years. Her father and I fell out.” She was whispering, but Steve saw her breathing speed up and her eyes darted back and forth. Before he could speak, Peggy began openly weeping which brought on a hacking cough. Each one wracked her ribs and chest, so he hurriedly poured out water into a small glass. She accepted it when the coughing attack stopped; Peggy’s eyes were unfocused and Steve felt his heart drop. He knew what that meant.

Peggy slowly raised her head and turned to him. “Steve?” She gasped. “Oh, Steve! They found you!” Tears gathered in her eyes and he felt his heart clench. He couldn’t think of what to say and Peggy seemed frantic; she lurched forward and desperately grabbed hold of his hands. “I did…I did what I thought was right Steve, truly I did!” She began sobbing again. “I couldn’t, couldn’t do any more for her! Oh, sweet pea I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Steve! I prom-promise I tried!”

“Peggy, I’m sure it’s okay. Please, slow down.” Steve begged as she began to weep in earnest. “She forgives you.”

Peggy shuddered violently as she cried. “No! No, she can’t! Janey won’t! Oh god, my poor Janey!” Steve frowned. Peggy had told him bits of her past, kept vague on her family life, so he wondered who this person was.

“Pegs, who’s Jane?” He asked gently. It only made her cry harder and her chest heaved; he started worrying that she’d hurt herself. “Peg calm down, _please_.”

“Oh, my little girl,” she wept, “my girl…_my girl!_” Peggy’s chest shook badly, her breathing became short and shallow. Steve panicked as she wheezed; he stumbled to his feet and ran for the door. He yanked it open so hard it left a dent in the wall.

“Nurse!” He shouted. It echoed down the hallway, and as he turned back into the room he heard the sound of running footsteps. Peggy still trembled as the nurse ran into the room, speaking in assertive but soft tones. Steve clasped her hand to say goodbye before he moved to the door.

To see her like that pulled at his heart, and it couldn’t take anymore. 

* * *

“Sup, man?” Sam greeted from outside the home. He lazed across a bench nestled between two large flower pots full of blue tulips but he righted himself when Steve didn’t reply. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“She knew Jane but I don’t…she had another lapse, an’ she,” Steve sighed roughly and dropped onto the bench beside Sam. He rested his head in his hands and stared blankly at the floor. “She got so upset.”

Sam sighed and pressed his hands together between his knees to give Steve a moment to collect himself. “What did she say?” He asked gently.

Steve looked pained as he gazed across the street. “She said she knew the Foster family, was friends with the grandmother and that they became distant after an argument with Jane’s father but,” he sighed again, his mouth twisted in uncertainty, “god, she was so upset. It was…it was, bad Sam, so bad she couldn’t stop crying and I had to call a nurse into the room.”

Sam nodded slowly. Steve had expressed how he felt about Jane, and about wanting to speak to Peggy, though Sam hadn’t been sure what would come of asking. Steve was adamant there was something connecting Peggy and Jane, but Sam wasn’t sure if he had considered what his digging could mean. “So Peggy was a family friend?”

“An aunt but,” Steve turned to stare at him almost pleadingly, “but there’s more to it. I know there is. She got so upset, sh-she kept begging for an apology from a woman, from Jane, from me.” He fell slouched into the bench, eyes unfocused. “Then she said ‘my girl’, an’ I…” Steve shook his head and let it fall back. His eyes were shut tightly against the sunlight.

Sam said nothing and watched passers-by make their way to wherever they were going as he reflected. “That unsettled you?”

Steve nodded.

“Was it to do with a memory? Something you talked about?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, “yeah it did.” He rocked to lean on his knees again and rubbed his hands over tired eyes.

Sam jumped to his feet and tugged Steve’s sleeve. “Let’s go get a drink an’ we can talk.”

“I don’t know…”

“C’mon, all this isn’t doing you any good. We can get a drink, find somewhere to hole up and talk. I think you need to.” He placed his hands on Steve’s shoulders; he eventually looked up. “I’m doing this as a friend and because I care. There’s a lot to this that I think you need to air.”

* * *

Sam purchased two cold bottles of coke, dragged Steve to a nearby park and found the most hidden, comfy place to drink and talk. “I used to come here when I wanted to be alone. Especially after Riley and…all that.” He explained as they ducked under low-hanging branches of a planted yew tree. The ground was covered in browning needles and two limbs were low enough to relax in. Carefully they climbed up, drooped back into the boughs and allowed the wind to settle them. The needles drifted into Steve’s face a few times and he kept his eyes on the red berries that danced with the wind.

“She got upset because you talked about the good doctor? Does she know Dr Foster?” Sam prompted.

Steve nodded slowly and turned his eyes to his coke bottle. “She knew Jane’s father too, said they’d had an argument and hadn’t seen them since,” he took a gulp, “but she got _so _distressed…askin’ for someone to forgive her. She said she’d done what she thought was right.”

“What does that mean?” Sam asked.

Steve shrugged and his eyes dropped back down to the bottle he held as the yew swayed in the wind.

“Look, I don’t know how to say this, but…have you really thought about what you’re asking?”

Steve’s scowl was defensive. “Tryna say I don’t know what I’m thinking, Sam?” He attempted a joke but it fell flat.

Sam held his hands up, placating. “I just mean you said it was her eyes that looked like Peggy’s, an’ here she is getting upset over you asking…” He kept his eyes on Steve as he slouched back into the branch. “Have you actually considered what it could mean?”

The words drifted in the silence between them as Steve thought it over. He’d said Dr Foster had the same warm brown eyes as Peggy did; the night of the take-out and meeting her for the first time, seeing those eyes again startled him, distracted him all night. “At the take-out, I watched her.”

Sam frowned quizzically at him. “What?”

“I noticed she moved like Peggy, when she was comfortable and wasn’t thinking. She laughed like her, she even smiled like her…” Steve fell silent as he mused over the evening weeks before. Sam watched as his forehead wrinkled in thought and his hands clenching around the soda bottle.

“Funny,” he began, “I thought she smiled like you.” The breeze jostled the yew’s needles; Sam saw the dark scowl on Steve’s face as he lifted his gaze to glare.

“_What?_”


	9. To Almost See It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds Jane and they talk, and gets an unexpected glimpse into a life that he doesn't realise how much it could mean to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! No trigger warnings here, just a conversation chapter.  
I do not own anything from the MCU or anything you recognise!

** _18th October 2015_ **

The labs had finally been repaired. Stark Industries had tested and re-tested and re-tested their lab glass to make it stronger because Hydra, clearly, had something that could shatter it in a few short shots. Tony Stark wasn’t going to be outdone; apparently he went without sleep for nearly three days working on a solution.

‘_Stark’s like a bulldog,_’ Jane thought to herself as she watched the technicians finish up. ‘_Won’t let it go ‘til it’s done_.’

The new glass was twice as thick, nearly soundproof and came with a non-break or shatter guarantee. Pepper Potts even personally came down to apologise on behalf of Stark Industries, which surprised Jane because she expected the CEO to be much too busy dealing with other issues. Pepper even took on board Jane’s comment about key-card access being available to anyone with a card.

Turned out the higher-ups agreed. Sleek new retinal scanners had been installed beside every door. If you weren’t coded to that door, then you weren’t getting in, plain and simple, unless invited from the inside.

As the technicians left, Jane sighed in relief. She could finally fix her meteorological sensors in peace. Despite the broken machine, her research was coming along swimmingly, and Darcy had settled in nicely too; she had struck up some friendships with other lab techs, and when she and Jane had no cosy girl nights, she was out with them.

Her phone beeped. Jane dropped her pliers and snatched it up; it was from Erik, returned from whence he’d secluded himself.

** _Erik_ ** _: Asked abt lab. Will know soon._

“Oh, Erik.” She shook her head with a sigh. Erik had one of the larger labs in the main wing, near medical R+D; when he found out Jane had one of the smaller labs downstairs, he grumbled about it, and promised to have her transferred into the labs upstairs beside him and near Dr Cho’s research laboratories.

Jane shuddered; she hadn’t forgot the uncomfortable meeting she and Dr Cho had, though she felt bad for running out of there like a small child. She hadn’t seen Dr Cho since then and honestly, Jane hadn’t attempted to. She didn’t want to be poked and prodded as a medical marvel.

An alarm dinged.

It was the new door system; someone wanted in. She glanced behind to see Captain America beyond the glass, back ramrod straight and face serious. ‘_Uh-oh_.’

Jane felt her stomach twist as she disentangled herself from the machine (Darcy’s fault, her coffee had spilt all over it) and slowly approached the door. With a single swipe, the doors glided open. “Hi.”

The Captain managed a weak smile as he tiptoed past her; it was strange to see such a large man try to shrink in on himself and Jane got the impression he was doing it for her. “How can I help you Captain?”

“I, uh, I wanted to see how things were. You know, since the accident?” He asked as he rubbed the back of his head. “I know Dr Selvig wants you upstairs, and from what I understand it might work better for you both.”

“Heard about that already?” She asked in alarm. “Well I don’t want to cause an issue changing things around. I’m quite happy here, even if it’s smaller than I realised, especially when Darcy spreads out.” She gestured to the desk.

Steve skimmed over the colourful notebooks, neon pens and big hair-ties dotted across the surface, the comical doodles on the edges of her writing and across the cover of another pad. Miss Lewis certainly had set up her space. “She’s got a lot of moxie,” he said, “and if you don’t mind my saying, I think she’s got a match in you.” He peered at Jane with a wry smile.

Jane blushed but her mouth pulled back into a bright smile. “We are quite a pair.” She picked up the pliers again, and toyed with them. “I don’t know what I’d do without her, to be honest.”

\---

‘_Shit_.’

Steve was floored. ‘_That is…crap, Sam might be right_.’ He thought. His heart rattled against his ribs. Her smile was like his mom’s, meaning it was like his. For a moment she looked this both Peggy and his mother, and the world tilted uncomfortably. His face felt both hot and cold, his hands were clammy and the room was spinning. He gripped onto the edge of the desk and he felt it dent slightly beneath his hands.

Steve didn’t know if he wanted to find out or to be left in the dark and cope with seeing a woman who marched around like Peggy with his mom’s grin.

“But in regard to the incident, I’m better. Thankfully none of my work was on the computers yet but I had left my notebook out, which has all the important bases in it. Losing that would be worse.” He heard Jane say as she twisted at a bolt on her machine.

“Yeah, about that,” he swallowed, “we found one of their men down.” As Steve peered at her from under his brow he saw her face redden. “Are you alright, Doctor?”

“Er, yeah,” she replied, “I had to hit him.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up. “_Had_ to?”

She nodded reluctantly, and turned to face him again. “The door over there was locked,” she pointed across the room, “and I caught their attention. One of the goons came to look and I hit him.”

“Your strike was a helluva hit,” Steve praised, “kid had a doozy of a headache, if not a concussion.”

Jane’s eyes widened and she began sputtering. “Oh god-! Really? Oh, crap. Er, oh god – I didn’t! I hadn’t-”

“Doc, doc it’s fine!” said Steve gently, pushing away from this tight grip of the table. “You did what you had to. Hopefully the kid’ll talk and we can get the latest on Hydra, and what they might want with your work.” The room had stopped spinning, finally. He stood straight, hands on hips in his ‘Captain America’ pose as Sam called it (a phrase from Darcy, he later found out). “We’re gonna make sure they don’t get their hands on it.” Steve had hated the fact Hydra was targeting one of their own. Yet now it unsettled him; for her sake he hoped this was all just coincidence.

“I understand. I didn’t want to hurt him too bad. Just enough to get away with my notes, which I did.” Jane replied and looked down at her arm. “Though not entirely unscathed.”

Steve noticed the faint scar, pale with age. “Better already?”

“Yep! Good thing I heal fast,” she nodded, smiling, “otherwise Darcy wouldn’t let me work.”

“Handy trick,” he began as he relaxed back against the desk, arms folded. “Where’d you learn it?”

Jane gave him a questioning onceover and must have decided that his interest wasn’t malicious (he hoped, at least) as she joined him against the desk. “My mom. She was pretty quick at healing too.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” a large grin overtook Jane’s face, “yeah she wasn’t averse to testing it either.” Steve quirked his eyebrows, a silent prompt for her to continue.

“When she was a schoolgirl, back home in England, she got into a fight with some bullies. They were mocking her friend. My grandma always said she was cheeky,” Jane smiled again but her eyes distant. “These girls said ‘_this is our bridge!_’ and my mom, without hesitation replied back ‘_I thought trolls were meant to be under the bridge!_’”

Steve snorted. “She didn’t?”

Jane’s lips were tightly pressed together, so she could only nod. They held each other’s gazes for a moment or two, then couldn’t hold in it.

“Yeah, she said that,” Jane gasped, “of course, they didn’t like it and they got into a fight. One got a lucky hit right on my mom’s nose. Stunned her enough she stopped fighting back, and the girls walked away giggling. But mom…mom got back up again...” Jane’s smile became pained, as though the memory hurt. “The girls came back and were annoyed she’d got up. My mom’s nose was bleeding, there’s blood all down her school uniform yet her fists were up, and she said ‘_I can do this all day_’.”

Steve couldn’t breathe.

‘_That doesn’t mean anything. No, no, anyone can say that. It does _not_ mean anything._’ He chanted in his head over and over. “She was a firecracker, then?”

Jane’s smile was weak. “Absolutely.” She glanced at her machine again as fingers danced over her pliers. “Thanks for stopping by to speak to me, but I need to get back to this.”

“Oh, yeah, if you have any issues you can bring them to me. If you’d like to that is,” he stuttered, “shout, and we’ll come running.”

Jane nodded. “Thanks, Captain.”

* * *

Steve couldn’t get out of there fast enough and was glad for the excuse to leave. Blindly he marched back to his rooms, far on the other side of the complex, away from scientists and laboratories and small brown-haired, brown-eyed women who turned his world upside down.

He collapsed onto his couch, arms and legs spread haphazardly across it as he stared at the ceiling, replaying the conversation over and over in his head. He stayed like that for an age it felt like, until something flashed in the corner of his eye. The dying sunlight reflected on a glass vase he hadn’t seen before. A bunch of small, blue flowers bobbed in the water.

‘_Forget-Me-Nots_.’ He realised and reached across to graze a finger along a tiny petal. As he did, a white envelope caught his eye; it had fallen to the floor beside the couch, knocked off as he’d passed. Deftly, he ripped it open and tugged the letter out.

_Steve,_

_Aunt Peggy wanted me to send these to you. She said they have some meaning to you, something about a walk in London? Anyway, she seemed quite desperate for you to have them, and that she was sorry, though she didn’t tell me why she was. _

_Keep in touch,_

_Sharon._

A walk in London through a small, lush lawn when everything else around it was in shambles, ruins. A giddy conversation about the future. Little Sarah Jane, little Michael and Joseph; Steve felt tears behind his eyes and scrunched them shut to will them away.

No, he was not going to deal with this now. Today kept shocking him. He wasn’t sure his heart wouldn’t stop if something else came up.

A shrill tone echoed through the room.

“What’s up Sam?” He asked. “Really? Where?”

“I’m on my way.”


	10. That Same Energy, Called Chaotic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Jane move labs, eat Thai and watch Golden Girls. Is this the time to rock the boat a little? Darcy says yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing bad in here; slight allusion to anxiety, but nothing else.  
I don't own MCU or anything you recognise.

** _20th October 2015_ **

** **

“_Whoaaa, we’re half way there! Whoooa-OH, livin’ on a prayer!” _

The singing was the first thing to alert Jane to Darcy’s presence. She turned around and her dark haired friend was rocking out with her earphones in and iPhone tightly clutched in her left hand just inside the doorway. Jane watched as Darcy strummed a little bit of air-guitar, eyes closed as she moved her head to the rhythm. “_We better hold on, ready or not! You live for the fight- _HEY!”

“Darce, we can sing and dance later in the _bigger lab_!” Jane said as she gave Darcy a knowing look.

“Yeah, bigger,” Darcy repeated with a grin, “more performance space.”

“Exactly, but I need you help me move these things. The techs have done the rest but I don’t want them dropping these.” Jane said and walked to her desk where two large boxes were waiting, full to the brim with doodads and gizmos.

“You gave me the lighter one, right? I mean, I love showing off my guns any time but I don’t wanna embarrass myself.” Darcy asked as she peered into the box.

“Of course,” Jane said, “it’s mostly notes in there, some pencil cases and stuff. I’ve got the heavy duty items in this.” She pulled the box across the desk to the edge and hefted it into her arms with ease. “Let’s go.” They marched out of the lab and down the hallway, around the corner and through the doors into the atrium. “Was it up these stairs, or through the doors?”

“You take the stairs to your immediate left, then through the doors straight ahead. You shall require your new access card then, Dr Foster.” F.R.I.D.A.Y replied. Jane and Darcy jumped at the sudden voice.

“Right, thanks.” Jane said. She turned to the stairs and climbed, Darcy slowly followed. “I don’t recall asking the computer.”

Darce grunted. “The thing’s always there to help, Janey.” She glared up at the high ceiling in general as she reached the top of the stairs. “Do you have the new card?”

Jane approached the glass doors and peered through them. “Yeah, in my back pocket.” She attempted to reach for it, but couldn’t quite keep the heavy box steady with one hand. She tried again, and again but gave up with a sigh. “Can you reach, Darce?”

“I’d love to but this box is kinda heavy.”

Jane was perplexed. “What? That’s the lighter box!”

“Yeah, to you! This is my limit.” Darcy rebutted, and Jane saw the tight grip she had on the corners.

“Oh, I’m sorry Darce, I forget.”

She shook her head. “No worries, boss lady,” Darcy smiled wide, “only gonna help my guns in the long run! Pew-pew!”

They laughed together for a moment, and Jane tried to reach again but her box almost fell out of her arms.

“Perhaps I can help?”

Jane and Darcy jumped; right behind them was Dr Cho with a soft smile on her face. “I can hold the box for you, Dr Foster.”

“Oh, no, no it’s okay, I’ll just put it down-”

“No, no I insist, really.” Dr Cho grasped onto the box by the corners and pulled it towards her. “Oh, my!” She stumbled back as the full weight hit her square in the chest; she clearly hadn’t expected it to be so heavy. “I’m okay, I’m okay!”

Jane whipped her card out, slapped it onto the reader and looked into the retinal scanner. Hurriedly, she lifted the box out of Dr Cho’s arms. “Thank you so much, Dr Cho! I really should have warned you.”

“Helen, please,” she said, “and it’s quite alright. You’re in now. Have you seen the lab yet?”

“Not yet, but Erik said it was the second set on the right?” Jane replied as she walked down the corridor of glass windows, displaying all the research and technology inside the labs. To the left the entire wall was covered, and inside was the medical R+D centre, headed by Dr Cho. “Your labs are busy.”

“Ah, yes,” Helen looked to see her techs and assistants busily working. “We’re looking into Captain Rogers’ regenerative capabilities; it’s been something of an interest.” Jane’s face twitched as she thought about their last meeting but she smiled as Helen turned around again.

“Well, I hope it’s successful!” She said. They walked down the corridor until they came across the second set of double doors. Beyond, the room was empty of people but her machines were all in place. “Thanks for your help.”

Without so much as a look back, Jane marched into the labs. She didn’t want to think on super-healing and medical interests.

* * *

It took all afternoon, but Jane and Darcy finally finished with the space by six in the evening. The sky was jet black, and the pathways were lit up as usual. Since the attack, guards patrolled the site, and sometimes they could just be glimpsed in the shimmery night, both as solid people and not.

She and Darcy ordered take-out and were chowing down in their lab; the local Thai restaurant was the best for red curry which she and Darcy loved. Jane dished out their shares of curry, chicken and vegetables as Darcy set up her laptop to watch something on her iTunes. “Golden Girls?”

“Definitely!” Jane grinned as she placed the plates in front of Darcy. “Love me some Dorothy.”

They ate and laughed as Blanche, Dorothy, Rose and Sophia went through their lives in Miami; for the next two hours they relaxed in the beautiful tranquillity of no imminent alarms for the Avengers to charge out.

“Hey, I heard through the grapevine that Cap came to visit the other day.” Darce began, sucking juice from an orange wedge. “What did he want?”

Jane shrugged lazily. “He asked if I was okay after the incident.”

“Really? Tamara told me he was in there for a while.”

“Got a spy on me, Darce?” Jane asked wryly with an arched eyebrow.

Darcy whined. “C’mon, tell!”

“Well, I freaked a little when he told me the guy I hit likely had a concussion – _don’t _laugh! – but he calmed me down; he hopes the guy’ll tell them stuff about Hydra but it’s been weeks so I guess he’s not. He stood in his little ‘Captain’ pose so I guess he was trying to make me feel better. Then we talked about my scar.” Jane explained as she sipped at her Dr Pepper and glanced down at where the scar had been; she zoned out as she did until Darce had to kick her lightly with her foot.

“Are you okay?”

Jane stared at her arm, thoughts whirled through her head as she tried to formulate her question. “Have you ever felt inexplicably comfortable around someone?”

“What do you mean?” Darcy asked. She pulled herself into an upright sitting position to better look at Jane’s face. “You feel comfortable around him?”

“I told him a little bit about my mom.”

Darcy jerked her head back, wide-eyed. It took Jane over a year to tell her anything about her mother. “What exactly?”

“He called my healing a ‘handy trick’ and asked where I got it from, so I told him about my mom and the bridge.” Her lips trembled in a faint smile. “He called her a firecracker.”

“Wow,” Darcy breathed, “what is it about him?”

Jane looked up and through the panoramic windows. They allowed for an impressive view down the river behind the building. The oak tree stood firm to the right; its branches swayed with the breeze and they were a calming thing to focus on. “I don’t know. He just…there’s something really familiar about him. He…kinda reminds me of my mom actually, a strong presence…”

Darcy watched as Jane dropped to her chin to her chest as she puzzled over what she said. “Is that good or bad for you?”

Jane felt tears form so she blinked rapidly to clear them. “I…I don’t know. I caught myself, you know, I realised what I’d told him. I stopped it and he told me if I had any issues to let him know.”

They sat in silence for several minutes. Jane’s hands twisted in her lap as she thought about her brief talk with Captain Rogers. He had looked incredibly pained when they talked about Darcy and her moxie, so much so he’d leaned against a desk and dented it. Yet he’d calmed her when she panicked, and it helped enough for her to willingly talk about her mom. It was his reaction that stopped her talking; his heart-rate had picked up. She’d heard that faint thrum quicken and it unnerved her, made her stop. It reminded her of their first evening when he watched her.

“You know, you have the same vibe.” Said Darcy lightly. Jane jerked her head to look at her, her brow was creased into a frown.

“What?”

“Yeah,” Darcy shrugged, “the same barely contained chaotic energy. That ‘_I-am-gonna-jump-headfirst-into-this-without-any-consideration-of-the-consequences_’ energy. I feel like if we put you alone in a room together then there’d just be pandemonium.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! You’re both pretty similar like that, I think. He’d agree with any of your reckless ideas because he’s just as reckless.” Darcy explained as she dropped her feet to the floor. “Yeah, the way Sam describes him makes me think of you.”

Jane pulled a face at her and grabbed their empty plates. “I am not reckless.” She muttered petulantly.

“_Did you just pull the ‘Captain America’s Disappointed In You’ face at me?!”_


	11. Blood Doesn't Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha returns and her suspicions are perhaps on their way to being confirmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 02/02/2020 update!  
This chapter is largely Natasha, and she may be OOC. She's hard to write, but she's concerned about everyone's safety which I think is true to her.  
Usual disclaimer: anything you recognise and the MCU is not mine!

** _21st October 2015_ **

** **

For October, it was warmer than Jane expected. She decided to take her morning cup of coffee outside on the patio behind the atrium. The sun was just rising and it turned the sky into a vibrant mix of pinks, oranges and yellows draped by a soft blanket of blue as the night retreated. The poppies and carnations danced gaily in the breeze, and the dainty motions calmed Jane.

She had several experiments to start but for once, Jane didn’t want to rush into them. Instead, she sat outside to enjoy the morning in a way she hadn’t since New Mexico.

Thor would be returning from whatever mission he was on in the evening, and Jane wanted to be relaxed; she wanted to enjoy some time with him since they had it so rarely together. But she also had to admit she didn’t feel…_right_. 

Something inside of her was off. It was heavy and not. Thor always knew what she needed when she felt like this. One glance and he cooked up her favourite comfort drink or food, would magic an unbelievably soft blanket out of thin air, or describe the universe in that mystical way of his.

It didn’t help that she’d developed a sense of foreboding. It was different to the strum of her anxiety, the flash-feel that’d slide down her veins. No, this sat quietly in her throat, deeper and more solid.

It wasn’t panic, yet. It was simply _there_.

Jane _really_ needed Thor.

* * *

Natasha stalked into Dr Cho’s office. It had been sometime since she had spoken to the good doctor about Dr Foster’s peculiar healing ability, but missions had called her away.

“Doctor.” She announced herself, pushing into the room with grace. “Did you look into Dr Foster’s bloodwork?”

Dr Helen Cho startled; she hadn’t expected such a brash entrance, but upon seeing who it was, she swallowed roughly and shifted in her seat. Agent Romanov arched a sleek eyebrow. “Well, doctor?”

“Y-yes,” she coughed, “yes I have.”

Agent Romanov gestured impatiently with her hand. “And?”

“I analysed it as you asked and there was something different about the structure. I’ve only seen it once before.” Dr Cho replied steadily. She kept her eyes focused on her tablet as she tapped, bringing images up for the other woman to see. “It was a sample Dr Banner had some years ago from his research into gamma radiation. The strands are bolstered for want of a better term. Stronger, essentially.”

She stood from her desk and approached the large screen on which maximised photographs of DNA slowly turned. Natasha stood directly behind Dr Cho’s left shoulder, and she was certain she felt the agent’s breathe on her neck almost like a warning.

“When I found Dr Banner’s sample I compared the bolstering and they matched, as you see,” Dr Cho gestured to the highlighted areas. “Whilst Dr Foster’s is not as prevalent, when compared against mine,” she flicked to the next image, “you can see it is still more than an average person’s.”

“What does this mean, doctor?”

“That Jane and this sample donor are related.” Dr Cho said as she turned back to her desk and sat down. “That is her mother’s DNA.”

Natasha stared blankly. Dr Cho surmised that was as shocked as Agent Romanov could get because she doubted the woman expected to receive that result. “Why did Dr Banner get that sample?”

Dr Cho shrugged. “General Ross had it, but he never explained himself, and then he gave it to Bruce when he was researching super-soldier serum.”

The room was silent. Dr Cho watched Agent Romanov’s face for any slight change, though she perceived none.

Natasha’s eyes were centred on the DNA images twisting slowly. She was missing something. No matter how she tried to piece together the information she had it failed to come to a satisfactory conclusion. This went deeper, but she was not sure how much deeper.

“I’ll contact you about this at another time.” She said to Dr Cho before she stalked out of the room as quickly as she entered.

* * *

When Natasha Romanov commandeered anything you let her. Whether it was a table, a room, the security tapes, you let her have her space and did not bother her. At all. ‘On pain of death’ was left unsaid but translated across to even the most oblivious.

Jane Foster had a secret and it was one Natasha was going to find out, and it began with the security tapes in F.R.I.D.A.Y’s database.

She pulled up the files from the take-out, 20th September 2015, and followed as Dr Foster and her assistant left their suites and made their way along the corridors. They spoke of nothing important all the way to the dining room, and Natasha could hear the jazz music from the video. They greeted the team, accepted beer from Vision and Dr Foster struck up a conversation with Sam.

“_Is er…is the Captain around? Thor said he’s here now, since the whole…Ultron thing.”_

Sam on the screen nodded. “_Yeah, he should be coming along. No idea where he is right now. Guess he’s not ready.” _He and Jane looked at the doors behind where the Avengers’ main residences were; Natasha recalled she and Steve had been speaking in that corridor. Jane on the screen stared for a few more seconds before she spoke again.

“_Is Dr Banner around too? I’d really like to talk over some of his work. Erik- Dr Selvig – told me about his work on gamma radiation, and I’d love the chance to actually meet him and-”_

Sam stopped her from speaking, but Natasha paused the video anyway, contemplative. Whilst Bruce’s work on gamma radiation was not hidden from the scientific community, she wondered why an astrophysicist would be interested in that particular branch of research; was Jane perhaps aware of where her mother’s sample went? That is, if she knew the sample existed. ‘_How?!’_

In frustration, Natasha shoved herself away from the desk and paced. There would be no way Dr Foster would know if her mother had anything other than basic bloodwork done in a hospital, would have no reason to think it would go anywhere else…

Natasha abruptly stopped.

Dr Foster was against providing Dr Cho with a blood sample. A fear of needles did not seem adequate enough to deny the chance to research natural rapid healing in a human.

But _was _it natural healing?

The mother’s sample was given to research on the super-solider serum, a sample with bolstered DNA that apparently carried down to a child. What could that mean?

Natasha fell into the chair and rapidly typed at the keyboard and brought up the tapes for the night of the attack.

2nd October; Dr Foster had barely been in the facility a week before they were attacked for the first time. She and her assistant timidly walked down a corridor and bump into Dr Cho before the returned to their suites. Barely an hour passed when the duo run to the shelter with technicians from the labs. Inside, Natasha could clearly see the anxiety on Dr Foster’s face and in her twisting hands, when suddenly she jumped to her feet and ran for the door.

Natasha followed the woman’s run and was fascinated by her speed and the ease with which she moved, as though she was unaware she was faster than she should have been.

The feed changed to the old lab, and other voices had been faintly heard. The metal fire doors were ripped open and Dr Foster dove across the back of her lab into the shadows. The three men were in the darkened corridor, striking the lab opposite. When they turned to Dr Foster’s lab, Natasha clearly saw the pause in her movement, frozen for the briefest of moments before she scrambled away.

“_Have you found it?” _A voice demanded; it was a blond man, gaunt-faced and stern, with slight Russian accent. They marched into the room and attempted to access the computer. Natasha watched as the blond man got the report of the Avenger’s arrival, and Dr Foster huddled tight into the shadows on the left of the room, near to a closet door. It didn’t move. In the doctor’s frustration, she kicked a metal cylinder.

“_You, look_.” 

A weasel-like man nervously stepped in the doctor’s direction and with incredibly precise aim, hit the man once in the knee and again in the head; the second impact nearly made her flinch. The young man was lucky all had was a concussion.

Dr Foster moved carefully along the wall, and she pressed her fingers into the door frame to ready herself. She leapt up and twisted in one amazingly fluid movement, and sprinted down the corridor again, faster even than when she made for the labs. The Hydra agents barely had time to react; the blond shot once – the single strike to her arm as she turned – and didn’t bother again. They tried the computer, but ran away when the tell-tale sounds of Steve and Sam’s feet echoed down the hall.

Natasha sighed heavily. The strengthening of the DNA did more than make it slightly robust; it evidently meant the person was stronger and faster overall in ways that were obvious. She wondered how this was overlooked in the investigation that followed. Again, she pushed away from the desk and paced.

She thought over every bit of information she had and all of it suggested something ominous if not outright nefarious. Hydra had been a parasite inside SHIELD, had all of the intel gathered by SHIELD, and their own information. Agents within SHIELD worked for Hydra, and though many had been removed Natasha knew that not all had been; General Ross could never be suggested he was Hydra, but he targeted Bruce after the accident and sent him into hiding. It was not beyond the realm of possibility.

He had to have either known or had an idea of what the DNA sample had to give it to Bruce at all during his research. The DNA that belonged to Dr Foster’s mother, the same doctor who was being targeted by Hydra, yet was barely shot at; was that for show? Why take the data when you could have the scientist?

Ross had to have known what that sample was, and that knowledge was likely why Dr Foster’s DNA had never been given to SHIELD; they already knew about her. Hydra could falsify records, make people seem like they partook in the world like anyone else: existed and lived and died.

Natasha thought back to Steve’s reaction and his tension upon seeing Dr Foster; though he said he was reminded of Peggy, she felt there was more to it than that. It was coincidental that they looked similar. He sensed an uncertainty, despite his adamant denials that Dr Foster was anything other than a victim of Hydra. Foster’s acknowledgement of an aunt that didn’t exist in her files, who was an agent of the US government set Natasha on edge.

No, Jane Foster wasn’t who she claimed to be, and Natasha was going to find out.


	12. In From the Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve arrives back at the facility, but he isn't alone. And despite what's happened, even his companion can see there's more to Jane than what Steve wants to accept just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing too bad in here. Brief discussion of memory issues, neurological scans etc.  
Disclaimer: anything you recognise or is part of the MCU is not mine, I am merely borrowing.

** _25th October 2015_ **

** **

Steve was tired. He could barely put one foot in front of the other as he left the Quinjet. It had taken less time to bring the target in than he had expected, but it had been gruelling. Each trap or trick felt like the last desperate attempt by a tired man. Regardless, after a week James Buchanan Barnes had been found, knocked out and brought home.

Sam was directing the medical staff to gurney the dead weight of Bucky Barnes down to the secure holdings beneath the facility; it had been prepped to serve as a medical facility when necessary, and with Bucky still not being totally himself it was needed. Steve didn’t like it, but he knew it was best for him.

He descended into the room above the atrium and saw it was empty. He knew Natasha was back but was likely skulking somewhere and he knew Thor was around though likely with Jane…

He winced. He’d managed not to think about Dr Foster for an entire week. Sam had been good enough to not say anything about her too; since their conversation in DC, Sam understood how much this unsettled Steve, how much this really messed with his head. To Sam the relationship was apparent, and so too to Darcy when he spoke to her, but to Steve the implication was too much, and he was thankful this distraction came along when it did.

“Steve, Dr Cho says he’ll come around in an hour or so. We’d best rest up.” Sam said as he approached, and clapped a hand to his shoulder. “We can only hope he remembers this last week.”

Steve nodded resignedly but smiled in thanks. He shuffled off to his rooms. The walk was slow because he really could feel the hits he’d taken from Bucky; it was a startling and painful reminder of just what happened to his best pal, of what he suffered both during and after the war. And the metal arm was definitely vibranium. He knows a rib or two cracked and that they knitted together again on the flight.

Awkwardly Steve opened the side door into the Avenger’s private lounge area and was greeted by Jane, Darcy and Thor in the midst of some kind of movie; there was a strangely armoured man being stabbed by a blonde woman declaring ‘I am no man!’ as she drove her sword into him.

“Yes!” Thor boomed, his fist raised in celebration. “She is a fine warrior! I would gladly fight beside her!”

“Eowyn certainly kicks ass.” Jane commented, her eyes glued to the screen. It was only when the door fell shut that all three turned to him.

“Steven!” Thor leapt to his feet and grabbed him up into a large hug. “I am well pleased to see you again.”

Steve smiled faintly. “Yeah, it’s great to see you. Are you gonna be stickin’ around more?”

Thor grinned and glanced back at Jane. “Now that my Lady Jane is here with Lady Darcy, I shall be. I pledged to defend Midgard and I shall, against any who wish to harm it.” Steve nodded and patted Thor’s shoulder. He acknowledged Darcy and Jane as he walked past, but noticed that Jane would barely look at him. He heard her heart pick up and saw her fingers begin to twitch.

He turned away down the hallway to his suite. He just wanted to fall into bed.

* * *

“Your mind is twisting again, dear Jane.”

She jumped. Behind her, she saw Thor standing in the doorway of her bathroom, gazing at her with his unearthly blue eyes, shining like they saw something more. “What?”

He sighed and walked into the room like a hunter approaching a wounded animal, like she would bolt. He swallowed her hands in his own, and held them still. “Your mind is twisting; it is scared and folds into itself. Why?” She felt the weight of his stare on her head. Jane always felt compelled to answer because it was such a calming warmth.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Since the attack I’ve been on high alert.” She shrugged with a tiny smile. “I’m fine, it’s just taking time to wear away, but everyone’s really good. They’ve helped a lot.” Her nod was shaky and she knew he saw through her. Thor always did.

“You are certain?”

“Absolutely.” She grinned and he relented in his questioning. “Let’s get to bed, I want to cuddle.” His laughter was booming as he fell into the covers and bundled them up like they were trying to hide away from Arctic winds.

* * *

** _26th October 2015_ **

** **

“He’s stable?” Steve watched Bucky through the reinforced glass. His friend’s head twisted back and forth on the pillow.

Dr Cho typed on her tablet beside him for a moment before she answered. “For now. The scans of his brain still show damage that heals, but then it reverts back,” she flicked on the screen, “it’s like they heal so far then slow, they don’t progress as well. His most recent memories repair easier, they’re the most prominent right now. The older memories take longer, unless they’re important.” She swiped through more images to another of his brain. “His neural pathways have blockers too. I’d almost say there’s something in his head that may trigger a reaction.”

“Do you know what?”

“None, but I’ll keep working on it.”

“Thanks, doc.” Steve smiled at her as she entered the room and stepped up beside Bucky’s bed and began to work on the screen. Steve watched Bucky sadly as he tossed and turned on the bed, his breath coming in rapidly then slowing.

For the next half hour, Dr Cho ran more neurological scans and worked on interpreting the results until Bucky woke up with a jolt and yell. Steve hurried inside but upon seeing him, Bucky flinched away and nearly fell from the bed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. They’re here to help. Bucky-”

“No!” He yelped and lurched to his feet. As he stumble-ran to a corner of the room Steve urged the guards back and out. If need be, he could deal with Bucky better than they could.

“Buck, you know that, don’t you? You remember your name?” Steve asked. He held his hands out with the palms up and hoped it’d work to calm him. “Do you remember me?”

Bucky panted. His chest heaved up and down with each rapid breath he took. “From the museum.”

“You know _me _Buck. Not from a museum. We’ve known each other since we were kids,” Steve said, “we grew up together.” Bucky stared at him, his eyes glossed over and shining. His jaw twitched and his tongue slipped out to wet his lips. “We’re here to help Bucky, I promise.” Steve offered his hand to him, hoping beyond hope he’d take it.

Minutes passed, neither of them moved. They simply watched each other, frozen like animals facing off. Eventually, Bucky reached out and took the hand; together he and Steve climbed to their feet.

“C’mon, Buck. Dr Cho’s gonna help you best she can,” Steve gestured to Dr Cho, who offered Bucky a gentle smile. “We want to make you better.”

Bucky nodded, stumbled to the bed and sat on it warily. Steve left him there, gave Dr Cho a curt nod and left the room.

‘_It’s a start._’

* * *

** _1st November 2015_ **

** **

Erik and Jane had been up three nights in a row observing a phenomenon that Jane believed would be interesting for her work but elusive to document. “Jane, I think we need to stop. We’ve been at this for three days, it is not working.” Erik sighed as he rubbed a hand over his eyes but Jane didn’t react; instead she scribbled on her notepad and turned back to her telescope.

“Jane, we’re not getting anything. Let’s stop.” Erik tried again, but she scribbled some more. “_Jane._”

“_What?_” She hissed. “I have some really good shots here, this could become useful!”

Erik gave her a pointed look. “It _could _but it’s hardly the calibre you need it to be.” Jane saw his expression and sagged. She packed away her notepad and pencils in her shoulder bag, and together they left the rooftop and descended back into the lab space. As they came into the hallway dividing Cho’s medical labs and their labs, they found Darcy arguing with someone, a security guard it looked like. Beyond them was Steve and another man – tall, broad shouldered, muscular – watching wide-eyed. Darcy was shouting.

“You better listen here, buster,” she prodded her finger into the man’s chest, “_that _man has been through hell and back several times, been through more shit than you can possibly understand! And to say something like that, ugh, you’re a total freaking asshole!”

“Darcy!” Jane dashed up to them when she saw the security guard take a menacing step towards her. She shoulder barged him, her right met his left, and nearly knocked the guy to the floor. “Don’t even try it!” She turned to Darcy, who looked shocked at her appearance. “What’s going on?”

“He made a shitty comment about him,” she pointed at the dark haired guy with Cap, “and I wasn’t gonna take it from one of Stark’s goons.”

Jane peered at the guard. He was red in the face and glared at them both. “Oh really? Well let me tell you something. That is Sergeant James Barnes and he was screwed over by Hydra. He gave his life trying to defeat them, and if you even think for one single, solitary second that he’s the bad guy, I’d suggest you learn to read and find out for yourself what happened. It’s all there on the internet. You say that in public and I think most people would eat you alive.”

“Listen, lady-”

“That’s _Doctor _Foster to you,” Jane snapped, “I suggest you go. Now.” The guard growled and stalked away, grumbling under his breath.

“Don’t even try it, I know fifteen different ways to make your day unpleasant!”

“Yeah!” Darcy crowed. “She does too! Get outta here ya loser!” She turned to Jane and held her palm up for a high five. Jane smiled and clapped her hand to Darcy’s. “I live for these moments.”

“Far too often I think, Darce.” Jane turned to face the Captain with some hesitation. This was the first time she’d seen him up close since his visit to the lab. “Captain.”

Steve and Sergeant Barnes looked a little shocked; their mouths hung open slightly but it was Steve who recovered first. “Uh, you can call me Steve, remember?”

Jane flushed. “Of course, I didn’t…I didn’t know if I should in public. You’re kinda a big deal.” She looked to the man beside him, dark-eyed and blue-eyed. “And you must be Sergeant Barnes.” The man flinched and nearly hid himself behind Steve.

“Yeah, it is but...”

“You’re recovering. I understand.” She smiled gently at him. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Jane, and this is Darcy.” She gestured to her friend who gave him a jaunty wave. “We’ll leave you alone now; c’mon Darce.” She took Darcy firmly by the hand and pulled her into the lab.

* * *

Steve had not expected that showing Bucky around to cause a ruckus. Sam joined them periodically, but when they went up to the lab spaces he hadn’t expected one of the security guards who had been shadowing them to actually speak up about Bucky’s past as the Winter Soldier. The man had made the mistake, however, of speaking when Darcy Lewis flounced through the doors and overheard him.

“The _hell _did you say? You better listen here, buster,” she poked him, “_that _man has been through hell and back several times, been through more shit than you can possibly understand! And to say something like that, ugh, you’re a total freaking asshole!”

Steve wasn’t sure who needed protection imminently: Darcy or the guard. Before he could intervene, the choice was taken from him.

“Darcy!” Jane barrelled into the guard with more force than he expected from a petite lady like her. “Don’t even try it!” She turned to Darcy, who looked shocked at her appearance. “What’s going on?”

“He made a shitty comment about him,” she pointed at Bucky behind him, “and I wasn’t gonna take it from one of Stark’s goons.”

Jane frowned down at the guard, who was red in the face and glaring. “Oh really? Well let me tell you something. That is Sergeant James Barnes and he was screwed over by Hydra. He gave his life trying to defeat them, and if you even think for one single, solitary second that he’s the bad guy, I’d suggest you learn to read and find out for yourself what happened. It’s all there on the internet. You say that in public and I think most people would eat you alive.”

“Listen, lady-”

“That’s _Doctor _Foster to you,” Steve stood straighter at the tone in her voice. “I suggest you go. Now.” The guard growled and stalked away, grumbling under his breath.

“Don’t even try it, I know fifteen different ways to make your day unpleasant!”

“Yeah!” Darcy crowed. “She does too! Get outta here ya loser!”

When Jane finally looked at him for the first time since he’d come back, Steve was reminded just how much she messed with his mind. As Jane turned her kind eyes to Bucky, he felt an odd sense of pride as she greeted him directly. “He’s recovering. I understand. It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Jane, and this is Darcy.”

The ladies’ departure, though, brought back the awkward situation he and Jane were in. Back in the medical bay serving as Bucky’s rooms, he didn’t expect his friend to say much; Bucky had only just begun to look him in the eyes and never called him by name.

Steve sank into an uncomfortable armchair across from Bucky’s bed, pulled out his smartphone and scrolled along an internet page; he didn’t even register the words.

“She’s like you.”

Steve jolted. Bucky was staring right at him and didn’t shy away when their eyes met. “What?”

“The other…Jane…she’s like you. Reckless, small, like you were.”

Steve felt his heart seize. Bucky barely spoke to him all week, nor could he look him in the eyes. Yet here was the first full sentence Bucky had said and it was about the mousey doctor who smiled like his mother or him or Peggy or _someone_. “You remember that?”

Bucky nodded shakily and met Steve’s eyes again. “She smiles like you.” Bucky’s mouthed twitched into a wobbly smile. “Who is she, Steve?”


	13. Thor Shall Make You Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor has a proposition for Steve. Sharing that with Jane is hard when she turns off completely, and he wishes to know why.  
Elsewhere, a phone call about a box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting. Last weekend there was an issue that has since been resolved, but it did make me question whether I should continue updating.   
As you see, I have! For this chapter, there is reference (indrectly) to anxiety (if you wish to avoid, stop reading after Thor enters the lab) it isn't too long and is more a rapid thought-piece.   
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise, I do not own!

** _8th November 2015_ **

Having Thor around really made a difference. It took away from the fact she was doing her best not to speak to the Captain too much. Since Darcy pointed out that they frowned similarly, it made her own feelings towards him even stranger too; it just…she wanted to keep her distance.

He’d made it easier of course by going off to wherever it was for a week, but she had the sneaking suspicion that others had noticed. It’d explain Agent Romanov. It’d explain the feeling of eyes. Erik had listened to her ramblings one night, had told her that it was alright to feel like that but Jane could tell he didn’t really understand why.

Honestly, she didn’t either; Steve Rogers was a comforting presence. She hadn’t thought of why that was at the time; she just began talking about her mother, and he reacted. His heart thumped oddly, he gripped the table and dented it, and he never said anything but Jane still wondered.

Darcy’s reaction was understandable. It took over a year for Jane to talk in any depth about her mom, her father, her whole family life yet Captain Rogers walks in and she shares like they’d known each other for years. It plagued Jane. Why had she done it? What _was_ she thinking?

It was purely _him_; she could see how he carried himself, at times uncertain and almost shy – like his size might scare people – and at others commanding and authoritative, he could control the room in any way he wished, and it made her feel so relaxed and calm.

It reminded her so badly of her mother.

* * *

“How fares your friend?” Thor set himself in a chair across the table to face Steve. “I understand your healer, Lady Cho, has not been able to determine his condition.”

Steve sighed; Helen was a brilliant scientist but she did not wish to mess around in Bucky’s head. “She could, but she doesn’t want to go too far and hurt him more. He’s barely able to be scanned without wanting to jump outta his skin,” Steve hung his head as he recalled the absolute look of fear in Bucky’s eyes. “I’ve never seen him like that.”

Thor kept his gaze steady; Steve had spoken of his childhood companion infrequently to him but Thor understood how important James Barnes had been to young Steve. The Avengers’ separate dining area was a godsend at times. Steve did enjoy the cafeteria food – he shudders to think of Camp Lehigh food – and speaking with the other people who worked with them, but it could very quickly turn into a viewing gallery; he and his chicken sandwich were the star attractions. In the wide, sleek space, Steve could be quiet and not worry who was going to see him breakdown.

“I have a suggestion,” Thor began, “if you do not wish to attempt it, I will understand, but I merely ask you consider it and bring it to Sergeant Barnes’ attention.”

Steve peered at him questioningly. “Okay, let’s have it.”

“The healers of Asgard may be able to help.”

Steve was stunned. He did not know what to think for a brief moment. It was plain on Thor’s face that he was offering in all sincerity, that he would not suggest it if he did not believe nor mean it. “I…_really_?”

Thor nodded eagerly. “Of course! We are shield-brothers, as he is yours. I would see him healed of his ailments be they of the body or mind; I can vouch for the abilities of the healers of Asgard. They should be able to progress further with his treatment and as you likely know our ways are different than those of Midgard. He will not be so panicked again.”

“Heard about that, huh?” Steve asked. Thor nodded. “If it isn’t like the labs here, then it won’t be so bad.”

“Exactly,” Thor beamed, “and I would like to offer it to him directly, if you agree to it.”

Steve shook his head slowly in disbelief. He hadn’t expected such generosity to be offered to Bucky, but then again most people did not even know he was alive, let alone sequestered in the Avengers facility. “This afternoon.” He smiled and offered his hand across the table. “I really don’t know what to say, but thank you doesn’t seem to be enough.”

Thor shook his head as he grasped Steve’s arm in companionship. “He is your brother, I would see both him and you well.”

* * *

Jane and Darcy were working. Or more rightly, Jane was working as Darcy jumped between typing frantically and watching _Grease_. It was one of their shared quirks: they could both get work done and listen to as background noise. Erik had made the mistake of wandering into Jane’s lab just as the introduction started up; though both Jane and Darcy were writing or typing they sang along to it as they did so. Even stranger, they intuitively knew which line the other should sing and completed the song in perfect harmony. Erik had quickly backed out after that.

Danny Zuko had just tripped over a hurdle when the lab doors glided open. Glancing past her whiteboard, Jane relaxed to see it was Thor; his cape was secured about both his shoulders in the way that told her had been on official business. Otherwise, it’d be flowing behind him. “Been busy today?”

He nodded pensively and regarded her, his eyes drifted back and forth across her face. “Yes, I spoke with Steven.”

Jane swallowed roughly and her heart jolted in her ribcage. ‘_Crap, he looks serious! Has he said something? What can be wrong? Is something wrong? Did I not fill my forms out correctly? Crap! I did, didn’t I! Oh no, oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no-’ _on and on her mind careened down a trail of thought that ultimately ended with her being thrown out of the building altogether. Her eyes flashed back to the whiteboard, her hand was tensing around a marker pen in mid-air above the surface, primed to write the equation. “Oh?” She hated how small her voice sounded. If Thor hadn’t sensed her panicked thoughts, then he surely knew by her voice.

“Yes,” his reply was hesitant and he kept quiet; Jane didn’t want to look. “Jane, what is the matter?”

She said nothing. Instead she hurriedly began writing again, finishing the equation then starting another. ‘_If I get this done then Darce can begin transcribing for the article. I really should get some new curtains for my room, they said I could. Perhaps blue? No, red! White! White is neutral, won’t clash-’_

“Jane!”

Thor never shouted. He had no need. If he wanted he could simply make his voice _boom_. It was an ability she put down to being Asgardian, to shout without it being a shout. Typically, he did it when he was outside and enjoying himself in some game or another, or wanting to get a person’s attention a distance away. He never did it inside.

_Grease _cut out halfway through a sentence, Jane noticed, and the walls reverberated. Timidly, she turned back to her boyfriend, her lips pursed together and her eyes sad. Thor’s face was stern, but it softened so quickly; his arms engulfed her in warmth and pressed her tightly to him. She pushed her face into his cape and let the tension in her body drain away. Thor’s voice vibrated his chest beneath her ear as he spoke but she didn’t listen. Not a moment later, her world titled as he effortlessly picked her up and carried her out of the lab.

In her suite, Thor kept her lights dimmed and settled her on the soft bed. Jane didn’t even try to move; she just snuggled further into her blankets. She felt the bed dip as Thor sat beside her feet and she felt the weight of his eyes on her; he’d wait until he couldn’t and then he’d press her. His large hands freed her feet of her boots and pressed into her arches. She moaned in relief as he pressed the aches away. “Are you going to tell me?”

She inhaled sharply and cracked an eye open. “Huh?”

“Your mind,” Thor sighed, “your hands. Do you not like the Captain, Jane?”

“He’s fine,” Jane said as she twisted to look at him better. “He’s been…welcoming.” She fell back onto the bed, curled her arms beneath the pillow and got comfortable again, but Thor wasn’t done.

“Jane, if he has said something-”

“No!”

Thor gazed at her steadily, and it unnerved her more. They even appear glazed over and the blue slowly blurred to white. His slow, feline blink returned them to blue. “There’s something…I can almost…”

“Almost what?” Her voice trembled, uncertain when he didn’t blink again. “Almost _what_?”

Thor stared unseeing at her. They stared at each other, one blinking and the other not, for some time until Thor’s eyes focused on her face. “When he returned you wouldn’t look at him, and now you worried at my mention of him. Why?”

Jane sighed heavily and decided to face him. “I’m uncomfortable around him because…because he’s _too _comfortable to be around.”

“That makes little sense Jane; has he done something?”

“That’s just it, he hasn’t,” she rubbed at her face in frustration. “He’s been nice, he came to see if I was alright after the attack. He even hurried up my move into the new lab!” She jumped from the bed and began to pace in front of Thor. His eyes followed her back and forth, his face open with interest and compassion. It made her heart flutter.

“What is it then that discomforts you?”

Jane stopped at the window beside her bed and watched the oak tree, white poppies and pink carnations sway gently. “My mom. He reminds me so much of my mom.” Thor stood at her shoulder and rested a hand on it. “I even told him about her; I don’t do that! I’ve never talked about my mother to someone I don’t know! And when I told Darcy…when I frown do I look like him?”

Thor looked into her face as she looked up at him. “I have not thought so.”

“Well Darcy does. She said I gave her the ‘_Captain America’s Disappointed In You_’ frown.” Jane scoffed and leant back against his chest.

* * *

‘_Finally!_’ Sharon gladly fell back into her couch with a glass of white wine; after a long intercontinental flight from her new posting in Germany, she was home. For the next three weeks she could sit back and relax, and not worry about bad guys and evildoers. She clicked through the channels and settled for some _FRIENDS _reruns. Wiggling back into her comfy couch, Sharon had every intent of not shifting or talking to anyone for the next few hours.

That was, until a cheery little tune sounded.

“Oh for god’s sake!” She groaned. It buzzed annoyingly on her coffee table, so she near slammed her glass down and snatched up her phone. It was Jeanie.

With a sigh, Sharon answered. “Hey, Jeanie, what’s up?” She listened as the woman talked, a frown slowly grew on her face. “Jeanie, Jeanie I have no idea what you’re on about…fine, I’ll come along tomorrow. Bye.”

Sharon stared at her phone quizzically. How had she missed a box meant for Steve?


	14. Daughters by their Mothers' Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeannette Sousa Westley goes rummaging in a box. And her long held beliefs are destroyed by a woman she never knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It has been a bit!  
I lost some interest in my story as my PhD work picked up, and everything like this was just a bit too much for me.   
And then there's a pandemic on, making my work even harder and more of a struggle to get done. So, no help there.  
BUT! I am back with a new chapter! I can't promise it will be weekly like it was before, but I have motivation and ideas again. I hope you'll bear with me.  
No triggers in this chapter, but if you feel there are, please leave a message and I shall add it to the tags.  
A big thank you to my beta Survivor_Reborn; love you loads x

** _4th July 1978_ **

The weather could not have been better. The sun was high. The sky a bright blue. The deck was kitted out with a the red-white-blue bunting, matching balloons and napkins. Her guests were all settled and watered; they chatted amongst themselves as Andy Gibb’s _Shadow Dancing_ charmed some into dancing. Jeanie wasn’t going to let anything ruin her first party as Mrs John M Westley! It wouldn’t do to disappoint her mother-in-law.

Speaking of mothers, Jeanie peered around to find hers. She wasn’t outside, so Jeanie ventured in; past the merrymakers in the kitchen and into the lounge. Her mother wasn’t in there either, but Jeanie noticed a picture frame not how she left it. It was of her brother and _that _woman, his wife.

‘_To think she calls herself Mrs Sousa, tsk_,’ Jeanie thought to herself as she twisted the photo of her brother and his hippie wife. On she went, adjusting the picture frames she’d forgotten – that obnoxious cousin from New Jersey; the poor relatives in Brooklyn; another one of her brother, his ‘wife’ and their small boy; her mother and Captain America – Jeanie’s hand halted. She’d forgot she’d put this on the mantelpiece; her mother, prim and proper in her uniform with perfectly coiffed hair, stood proudly beside a blond-haired man with bright blue eyes in what could only be described as patriotic as an outfit could get. Red, white and blue, a single star in the centre, he would have fit well with her decorations.

Jeanie scowled down at their smiling faces. She placed it flat on the marble. She swallowed and turned away as composedly as she could and made blindly for the door.

“Oh, there you are sweetpea!” A crisp voice called. Jeanie jerkily turned her head and saw her mother and her husband’s mother. She felt the blood drain from her face.

“Mom, there you are,” Jeanie walked in with her arms wide open and pressed cold, chaste kisses on her mother’s cheeks. “Where’s daddy?”

“About,” said Peggy vaguely, “likely with your husband.”

“Your mother is such an interesting woman; to think she actually knew Captain America!” Cora Westley chipped in. Jeanie swallowed harshly. She didn’t want to hear it, not again. “To think such a young, inspirational man taken so soon, he could have done marvellous things!”

Peggy smiled sadly, “He truly could have. It could’ve been so different; it’s such a tragedy-”

“Yes, a tragedy to be sure,” Jeanie interrupted, “it’s funny, I feel I know him better than my own father. Not quite how it should be, is it?” Triumph blossomed in her chest when she saw the deep, embarrassed flush spread over her mother’s cheeks and Cora’s judgemental raised eyebrow.

“They were the stories you asked for time and again,” her mother said curtly and Jeanie felt a small heat form in her cheeks; her mother normally did have a comeback or two. For all that Jeanie was her mother’s twin in looks, she wasn’t completely in wit.

With another rough swallow, Jeanie smiled, “I’ll leave you ladies alone.” Jeanie stalked out of the room. Carly Simon was playing in the background and her soulful voice was not helping; she felt the sting of tears behind her eyelids. The noise nearly overwhelmed her. Jeanie pushed for the door and threaded through her guests to reach the end of the deck. The sky was melting from blue to inky purple. It would be time for the fireworks soon.

“Sweetpea?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry for upsetting you,” her mother said.

Jeanie sighed, “I know I was the one who always asked for those stories. I was hoping you’d forgot.” She gave her mother a wry smile. Peggy returned it.

“You’ve set up a lovely party, dear. You’re such a social butterfly, I hardly recognise you sometimes,” said Peggy, “I hope you know I love you.”

Jeanie surged into her mother’s arms and hugged her tight. “I love you too, mom.”

It was only a brief conversation between them, but it set Jeanie to rights. Throughout the night she dazzled her guests with her bright smile and easy conversation. She showed her father off to her new in laws and boasted about his work in the ways her mother never quite did. The photographs turned away stayed turned. Her mother kept her own company, her right hand clutching her gold pendant necklace.

As Jeanie climbed the stairs once everyone had left, she saw the fantastic glitter art she’d done as a ten-year-old for Mother’s Day, proudly stating that she was her mother’s number one daughter.

Yet, she always wondered why her mother wanted her to have it once she moved into her own home.

* * *

** _9th November 2015_ **

Jeanie huffed as she threw her phone down onto the bed. Sharon had _promised _she’d be along today. The absolute nerve! It wasn’t her niece’s fault, she knew that, but she’d have to remind her about being more timely in letting her know she couldn’t make it.

Jeanie didn’t really want to be the one to send this box to Captain Rogers.

‘_I don’t know the man personally! We’ve never met!’ _She sighed as she dragged the box of out of her mother’s old closet. Scrawled on the side in a black pen was ‘Attn: Cpt S G ROGERS’ – the one and only Captain America. Jeanie was perturbed by this box; her mother already had two other boxes dedicated to the Captain, full of some of his personal items like clothes – she kept his _clothes_? – shoes, letters sent and received, and even a small field diary it looked like.

This one, however, was far heavier. Jeanie tugged, pushed, tugged again before finally dropping to her knees to empty it of its weighty contents. Across the top was a long white dress, like what would be used for a child’s christening. Her own christening dress was in her own attic, and she had already stored away her brother’s. Carefully, she draped it over a chair and turned back. Diaries, volumes of them - flipping through she recognised her mother’s handwriting, outlining her day and feelings.

They covered decades; the oldest spines warped and broken, the leather falling away with age. The most recent…1995, when she retired from SHIELD.

_14th May 1995_

_“…Things just aren’t the way they were. Since her…passing, nothing has tasted right. Nothing is bright any more, not even my grandchildren’s laughter. Daniel…he’s asked what’s changed but there’s nothing to tell. Nothing that he’d understand.”_

Jeanie remembered how despondent her mother had been back then. She knew a close friend of her mother’s died in 1990, but she couldn’t believe that it would impact her mother for so long. Flicking back a few pages, Jeanie soon realised nearly every entry for the nineties were short. A small paragraph or two. Perhaps a sentence. Nothing more. In fact, the entire written pieces in the diary were all from the 1990s, and one was particularly impactful in its transience.

_1st January 1992_

_“She’s gone.”_

Nothing followed for several days, until it came to the first day of February. The date had been written, then crossed out. The same for next few days until finally, on February 12th, pen had been put to the paper.

_12th February 1992_

_“…I only wish I had done more. Malcolm was right. I had so much power in my hands, yet I didn’t think to use it. I’m sorry Steven. It didn’t work. They knew…somehow. She’s gone. I lost her. _

_She is gone and I did nothing_.”

* * *

Even through the page and the years, Jeanie could feel her mother’s anguish. She blinked away her own tears as she skimmed back to another page, earlier, to see if she could find out who this ‘she’ was.

_30th December 1992_

_“Dear Jane is coping…well enough. The poor girl knows the situation is serious. Her father left her alone. He did nothing! It took his daughter calling me for me to even find out. I can’t believe my worst nightmare is coming true. The sleepless nights I’ve had…the fear. I can’t say anything, for fear Jane would hear but…I’m so terribly afraid.”_

Peggy Carter, afraid? Impossible. Jeanie flipped back again.

_26th December 1992_

_“Sarah-Jo is missing. Jane called. It’s been over a week, and I wasn’t told! My girl- Sarah’s been missing for over a week and that idiot of a husband of hers has curled up and away - left Jane on her lonesome. She’s barely ten! What was the child meant to do? I’m getting food and presents in. Something to give that girl comfort.”_

* * *

Sarah-Jo. Jane.

Jeanie had no idea who these people were, but clearly Sarah-Jo was the one who died after going missing, of all things. If this was a SHIELD issue, why then did it become so personal to her mother? Thinking back, her father mentioned her mother was gone for nearly a month. She recalled visiting after the New Year, and her mother was unreachable; for weeks she sat and stared, and did little else. She even distanced herself from her husband, occasionally even scowling in his direction like he wasn’t who she wanted there. It never improved; Daniel Sousa became a ghost in his marriage to her until he died.

Jeanie searched through the diaries, and Sarah-Jo popped up in all of them. Jane’s birth is spoken about at great length, almost like a grandmother about her granddaughter. The thought gave Jeanie pause, ‘_What if…?’ _

She thrust her hands back into the box and found letters, cards, some more diaries, but she struck something hard and thick. With a great tug, Jeanie pulled it out from its confines – a photo album. She ripped it open, yanking so hard on the cover that it skipped several pages. Smiling up at her was a teenager, mousey brown hair with bright eyes and a sunny smile. Further on, a brown haired man, lanky with glasses, joined her. From there a small child with brown hair and eyes appeared, hugged tightly by the woman like she meant the world. A feeling Jeanie could well relate to.

It was the final image that made Jeanie’s heart twist in pain however. Her mother, the young woman and the girl, all smiling together under a wintery sun. Jeanie hadn’t seen her mother smile so wide as that for years, since around the time this Sarah-Jo had gone missing.

“Who is she?!” Jeanie screeched out loud. Her fingers stuck to the plastic covers of the album as she tried to pull the pages back. Things became disordered as she tried to reach the front page and but she didn’t care about the photos between. She needed to see what was in the front.

It was her mother. Her shoulders bare. Her hair a mess and clinging to her face. And in her arms was a small, wrinkly child. Newborn. This version of her mother was young, in her twenties, and smiling so widely and tiredly that Jeanie could barely recognise her.

To the right was a small piece of writing.

_Sarah Josephine Carter-Rogers, born in the evening, at ten past nine, of 13th November, 1945._

* * *

Jeanie was frozen.

_Rogers. _

_Sarah Josephine Carter-Rogers_.

The book fell. Jeanie’s hands shook. Her breathing rattled. Something glinted. Long and thin, a gold chain with a pendant. Jeanie’s heart clenched again. Her mother’s necklace – she never took it off. Why was it here?

With a trembling hand, Jeanie reached in and lifted it out. She had always had this belief that inside was a picture of her in there. The precious daughter always beside her mother’s heart.

But inside, it wasn’t her.

Jeanie screamed.


	15. Unwanted Grave Goods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is off to Asgard just when Steve is about to be given something that will upend his world in a way he simply is not prepared for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Another update.  
Mostly Steve Rogers Feels here, but if you feel I have missed something, let me know. And of course, leave a message if you enjoyed it.  
Disclaimer: anything you recognise of the MCU is not mine; I am merely borrowing.

** _10th November 2015_ **

** **

Steve had never seen Bucky so relaxed. When the healers from Asgard came down to the compound to introduce themselves, Steve had been so worried that Bucky would react badly. Eir, the lead healer, promised him that all would be well.

“Thor was vouched for you and your friend. We will tend his wounds, both of the mind and the body, for as long as he needs,” she said kindly. When she and her associates went before Bucky, he appeared so small but in minutes he’d relaxed and followed them.

“Try not to do anything stupid, jerk,” Steve grinned.

Bucky’s brows twitched but a slow smile slid across his face. “It’s staying here with you, punk.”

“Worry not Steven, James shall be well cared for. Many a time has Eir and her healers tended to myself in my youth,” said Thor as he came to stand by Steve.

Eir smirked, “You are still in your youth.” The healers around her giggled, but Thor beamed and it lit up the room with its intensity. Eir turned to Bucky and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “To travel by Bifrost can be intense, but worry not, it lasts no more than a moment.”

Bucky turned to face his small audience, nodded once, and let Eir call for Heimdall. In a flash of light, they were gone.

Steve let out a sigh he wasn’t aware he’d held in.

“I can assure you, James shall be well cared for,” promised Thor, his large hand rested on Steve’s shoulder.

“I know,” he said, “I know he will. I just…I just never know what to expect anymore.” Steve turned for the doors leading inside the atrium, but he didn’t move forward to them. His mind had been so full of concern and confusion, and the fresh breeze made it melt away.

“We are friends, are we not?” asked Thor.

Steve looked at him and frowned, “Of course.”

“I would be able to speak to you of my worries?”

“If you wanted to.”

“Then I would like to offer you an ear, Steven. I sense you have worries beyond that of James.”

Steve stared. He let his eyes dance over Thor’s face and was reminded by the glint in his blue eyes that as an Asgardian there were things he could see that no human could. Sam was with family for the weekend, and Bucky was gone to Asgard, Thor was the logical choice.

“Err, yeah, I s’pose,” he mumbled. Thor gestured to the patio seating; a small wood fire burned in a hearth, and several pale sofas surrounded it under a trellis. They took opposing seats. Thor sat silently, calmly waiting for Steve to speak.

“I…since coming to this time, I’ve felt so…out of place. Nothing is as it was. I never thought I was gonna wake up. I was sure I was dead when I steered the plane down. But that didn’t happen and I’ve missed so much,” Steve groaned as he felt tears build in his eyes. He scrubbed his hand over his face to wipe them away before they fell and breathed hard to regain his slipping composure.

“I left someone back in 1945.”

“A lover?” asked Thor.

Steve nodded and spoke, “Yeah, Peggy. She…I met her before I looked like this. She worked on the super-soldier programme and we became…close. I was meant to have a dance with her, you know? Before…before the plane. She made me think of the future, and I wanted one…with her.”

Thor slowly nodded in understanding. “And this has been plaguing you since you awoke?”

“No! That’s the thing! It did at first. Like when I found out she was alive; I struggled for months to even contact her, and when I did she looked so guilty and I hated it! It wasn’t her fault they couldn’t find me,” Steve ranted, carding his hands through his hair repeatedly.

“Did it wane then?” asked Thor. “You said ‘at first’, does that mean you accepted it?”

“I…accepted the time had passed, and I couldn’t change that. But recently…actually since Dr Foster came, it’s brought it all back,” admitted Steve sheepishly, “she seems lovely, please don’t get me wrong, but…something about her reminds me of Peggy. Small, determined, and they have the same eyes.”

Thor’s grin was almost dopey in how broad it was, and Steve couldn’t help but return it. “Jane is very much a determined woman. I know she would not mean to distress you, but since she is away for the next two weeks, perhaps you should take this time to mull over these thoughts. I will be glad to be a friendly ear, if you wish.”

Steve was touched and gladly reached out to accept Thor’s arm in friendship. “Thank you.”

* * *

** _16th November 2015 _ **

** **

Natasha was looking for him. Steve had kept to himself for a few days after Bucky had left for Asgard. Thor had followed too, to be a somewhat familiar face in a very new place. Natasha had arrived two days after, and Steve heard through the grapevine that she wanted him. For what, he didn’t know and he didn’t want to ask.

“Open the door, Rogers. I know you’re in there,” she said from the other side of the door. Steve withheld a groan. Slowly, he climbed to his feet and opened it. Natasha sashayed in and slid onto his couch like she owned it. He wondered if she’d start to purr; everything she did was so cat-like.

“What?”

She pursed her lips at his brusqueness, but she reached into a bag and pulled out something wrapped in plastic. “This has been hanging around in SHIELD for several years. I had to go to Hill to get it,” she explained, glancing across to him, “why haven’t you looked at it?”

Steve narrowed his eyes and warily crossed over to the coffee table and picked it up. Inside was a small piece of paper with writing across it:

_SGRAPR12 – GVCTS – 4786678932A_

“What is this?” he asked.

Natasha shrugged. “You tell me Rogers, they’re your grave goods.”

Steve grunted. He knew these existed, items given by friends at a funeral with an empty coffin, full honours and guard in Arlington National Cemetery. It had to be dug up and taken away once he’d been found; he had never wanted to see what his friends had offered up at his funeral. He didn’t feel it was right to look.

“There’s a reason why I haven’t. I still don’t want to,” he admitted, dropping it back onto the coffee table. “Thanks, but you didn’t need to get them.”

“That’s not why I went,” she said, her smirk growing, “besides, you might find something interesting in there. I know I’d want to know if people would give me things when I die.”

Steve snorted, “Yeah, because pretence would only go so far, right?”

“Ouch,” she replied, “no need to get personal. I just think you should be interested.”

“I’m not.”

She shrugged. “I’ll leave it with you. Nowhere else for it to go.”

Steve watched as she walked back out of his suite. He didn’t know what to do as he stared at the package on the table. SHIELD had informed him that items had been retrieved from his grave, but unlike the packets documenting what had happened to his Commandos, he had never asked for the personal items; so far as he knew, they were kept under lock and key.

Steve was content to leave it like that. Yet, as he went for a shower, he couldn’t help but gaze at it for a few moments before slamming to door shut.

* * *

“Goddamn it,” Steve groaned as he twisted in his bed. It was late. He couldn’t sleep. He just tossed and turned, and never once found rest. Glancing at his alarm, the neon blue letters said 03:23 AM.

With a sigh, he sat up and dropped his feet to the floor. After a moment of silence, slowly, he made his way out of his room, forgoing a shirt. He poured himself a glass of water from the tap and nursed it as he leant against the countertop.

“What are you doin’?” he asked himself and he stared into the sink.

Behind him he felt the weight of the package Natasha brought and eventually, Steve knew he had to look; his mind would not rest.

Setting the glass down, Steve crossed to his couch and pulled back the plastic. First was an old lighter of Dum-Dum’s that he kept with him for good luck – it was silver all over, and not quite empty. Next was a small wooden figure of a saluting man – Morita’s, Steve knew, because he’d watched him whittle it. Falsworth had left his joint flag badge, with both the US and Union Jack flags, used by him as part of the Howling Commandos. Dernier had left a poem, entirely in French – Steve rarely got to see his work written down, and he smiled upon seeing the familiar cursive. Gabe had also written something by hand – a letter of friendship and sorrow. Steve barely wanted to touch the paper lest it fall to pieces but he did. Seeing all these things on the table before him made his heart clench and he didn’t even try to stop the tears.

He bowed his head and it took a few minutes for them to stop. He swallowed roughly and pulled at the last item. It was a small card. It had no decoration on the front, but the texture was patterned. Steve recognised what it was: inside would normally be a small photograph and the card was the decorative holder for it. They were often used by photographers when a person had come in for a formal picture.

This photograph inside, though, had not been taken in a store.

He stared wide-eyed at a small infant, swaddled and asleep. There was nothing written aside from: _With love SJCR._

Steve recognised the writing. His heart thudded uncomfortably, and he was certain it dropped out of his stomach. The world tilted again.


	16. To Be Rid of a Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeanie shows her brother and his wife the Box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter is not too heavy, so the tags do not apply to this chapter. Tiny jump back in time, if you'd noticed ;)  
ALSO: I have done some editing to earlier chapters - for those of you who have been reading since the start - a couple scenes have been added because I didn't think the chapter worked well, so please go back to the first three if you'd like!  
Leave a comment if you liked this chapter, or if you think any triggers have been missed! Thanks :)  
And thanks to Survivor_Reborn for her advice on this chapter.

** **

** _12th November 2015_ **

‘God knows what’s wrong with her, honey,’ Rachel Sousa sighed into her cell phone. ‘Whatever it is it can’t be that important…just because she was hysterical doesn’t mean it’s important, besides I could make out what she said; if she’s speaking coherently, she’s fine!’

Rachel twirled a pear around on the fruit platter in front of her, the paring knife to her left. _This again,_ she thought snidely, nibbling distractedly on the fruit.

‘Honey, honey, I’m sure it’s nothing…Hell will freeze ov- _hey! _Hold on honey, your father just ran past,’ Rachel ended the call and hurried after her husband. ‘Wait a gosh darn minute!’ He didn’t stop.

_Jeanie’s here then_, she rolled her eyes.

* * *

Rachel frowned. Jeanie was not well put together. She would have laughed had it not been for the thunderous look on her sister-in-law’s face.

‘Are you serious?’ demanded Robert.

Jeanie scowled. ‘I am! Do you honestly think I would come all way over _here _for a joke? Help me with the box,’ she grabbed her brother’s arm and pulled him to the trunk. Rachel glared at Jeanie, _Just because you live across the water in Connecticut doesn’t make you the queen bee!_

Robert struggled with the box, and just about made it to the lounge. The coffee table gave an ominous creak under the weight.

‘Robert, that table isn’t young anymore,’ she warned.

‘Isn’t it time to get a new one?’ hissed Jeanie.

‘Heirloom, dear,’ Rachel said breezily, ‘now what is this?’

Jeanie tore open the box and pulled out an old photo album. ‘Look at this! I could not believe my eyes,’ she said. She shoved it into her brother’s hands; warily, he pulled back the first page.

‘Am I meant to know who this is?’ he asked tiredly. Jeanie stabbed her finger at it. Robert scoffed and peered at the page again. Rachel watched with fascination as his face morphed into utter shock. ‘What the hell?_’_

‘Get it now? Look who the box is for!’ Jeanie said, gesturing angrily at the box. Rachel peered down and saw the name ‘Rogers’.

Robert’s face grew red. ‘This is some kind of sick joke, Jeanie!’

‘No, no it gets worse!’ she stated and delved into the box, searching for something else.

Rachel watched as she finally pulled it free; Peggy’s pendant necklace.

‘Look in here!’

Robert snatched the necklace and with clumsy fingers pried it open. ‘Jesus,’ he sighed, ‘I-I thought it’d be dad or the two of us, but…who is this brat?’

‘Brat?’ Rachel interjected. ‘Hold on, what’re ya’ll having a tantrum over?’

Jeanie glowered. ‘This,’ she said finally and thrust the photo album into Rachel’s hands. Rachel stepped away from Jeanie’s claws and considered the page before her. A small newborn baby, and Peggy, younger than Rachel had ever known her except in old photographs. To the side, handwritten in cursive, was: _Sarah Josephine Carter-Rogers, born in the evening, at ten past nine, of 13th November, 1945._

Wrinkly as the child was, she was beautiful. Rachel was about to flip through more when Robert snatched it out of her hands.

‘What do you wanna do, then?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know!’ hissed Jeanie. ‘I’d like to know why the _hell _she lied to us!’

Robert groaned, ‘It’s clear why she lied Jeanie; for years people called her Captain America’s ‘liaison’,” he mimed, ‘and here’s the proof she was nothing more than his floozy-’

‘Uh-uh,’ Jeanie warned, ‘don’t call our mother that!’

‘_Fine_, proves she did sleep with him, and had his kid! Of _course_ she had to lie. God, think of the embarrassment she’d have caused herself, _dad_, _us_!’ Robert paced away, scoffing in disgust as he did.

Jeanie shook her head. ‘Oh, god if this got out. We’d never live it down!’

‘Are you sure she’s dead?’ he demanded, rounding on his sister.

Rachel was rocked; this woman was _dead_?

Jeanie swallowed uncertainly, ‘W-well, in a diary entry she said ‘her passing’, that’s what she wrote! And when I looked back she said Sarah-Jo’s ‘gone’ and ‘missing’ and-and-’

‘You didn’t check to see if it was the same person? God, Jeanie, mom could be on about anyone! She’s known loads of people; perhaps it was that Angie woman?’ Robert paced back and forth.

‘Well, it might have been Aunt Marie, she died in 1995, didn’t she?’ asked Jeanie timidly.

Robert’s eyes lit up. ‘Yes! You’re right! They’d always been close!’

He gave a great big sigh as though everything now made sense. Rachel watched them with impassive eyes, _God, these two idiots_, she thought sadly.

‘What should we do Robert?’ asked Jeanie, smoothing down her shirt and wringing her hands.

‘Well,’ he began with scoff, ‘clearly we have to watch out for this woman, in case she comes along. I sincerely doubt this woman’s dead; if she did go missing, she was probably some housewife who ran away,’ he rubbed his hands together, ‘we need to get rid of this box.’

‘How?’

‘Leave it to me, Jeanie, and we can forget this ever happened,’ Robert promised.

* * *

Rachel washed away her face mask, turned out the light in the bathroom and shuffled into the bedroom. Robert had his glasses perched on his nose as he read some boring classic novel; he didn’t even look up at her.

‘So,’ she began, dropping onto the bed, ‘what are you gonna do?’

‘Hmm?’

Rachel rolled her eyes and sighed, ‘About that box you an’ Jeanie were up ‘n arms about.’

‘Oh, that,’ he mumbled, ‘I’m just gonna trash it.’

‘_What_?’

‘What do you mean, what? I’m getting rid of it, Rachel.’

She gaped at him. ‘So you’re telling me that you’re happy never telling America’s hero he has a daughter, all because it may somehow look bad on you?!’

Robert calmly put his book down and turned to glare. ‘_Yes_. I don’t care who he is or who this woman is. He does not need to know. It’ll look ridiculous that mom did everything she could not to be seen as Captain America’s ‘liaison’, and yet she was. Think how badly that would reflect on us.’

‘Ah, you’re more worried about how it’ll impact _you_, not your mother,’ she scoffed.

Robert growled, ‘Yes! Am I wrong for wanting that? Besides, she gave the kid up. Clearly shows she cared about her image.’

‘You don’t know that! You don’t! She probably had real, true feelings for that man; there’s probably loads of reasons beyond _image _that gave that child up – she created a damn keepsake box, Robert!’

‘I don’t care, Rachel. It’s getting thrown out,’ he said. With that, he turned off his bedside lamp and rolled onto his side.

Rachel stared. She knew her mouth hung open and she probably looked ridiculous.

_No way in hell is he gonna do that! _she swore to herself. She opened her phone and typed out a message: _Need your help tomorrow!_

A few minutes passed and the screen lit up: _Why?? What’s up?_

Rachel glanced over at her now snoring husband: _You won’t believe it if I tell you! Bring a cardboard box. We will need it! xo_


	17. Of All the Agonies in This World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve receives a box and decides to visit Peggy. Unlike before, this visit will test him in a way he has never had to face before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION: due to the course of this story, it has been decided to change from T to M, as a key OC does die and the impact is hard on Steve Rogers. The angst is also very heavy, and though I had not intended for it be so heavy on the angst, to write as good a story as I could, it has gone that way. Apologies to those who don't feel they can read any further! It was much appreciated! 
> 
> TRIGGERS: There is A LOT OF ANGST and STEVE ROGERS FEELS here! Death of an ADULT child, but a child nonetheless - an OC character.
> 
> This isn't an emotionally calm chapter, so if grief is not something you can handle, I wouldn't read this chapter.  
It was hard to write - the content is hard and I still feel like I have not done it justice.  
So again, this story has gone from T to M because it had to get heavier angst-wise, because the story I had in mind just would not have worked without it. BUT - there will be a happy ending!

** _16th November 2015_ **

Steve groaned; he’d been staring at the photograph all night. He wasn’t sure what he expected it do; it wasn’t going to change, the child wasn’t going to wake up and blink at him, and the picture was not going to vanish into thin air. As the sun crept over the horizon, it lit up the leaves of the great oak. Steve could only see part of the tree, but the fluttering shadow-leaves dancing in the light revitalised him.

With a surge of energy, he jumped to his feet and stalked into the bathroom to clean up. He washed up, shaved and dressed. He had every intent of commandeering a car to speed all the way to Washington. Before he could though, he fell over a box.

‘What the-?’ he stared at it. He wondered how long it had been there and who delivered it. F.R.I.D.A.Y would normally have alerted him to any parcels. ‘F.R.I.D.A.Y, who left this?’

‘Agent Carter,’ the computer replied.

‘When?’

‘It arrived at security late last night, they delivered it at 4 am this morning on the changeover.’

Steve nodded. He lifted it with ease and carefully set it down on his coffee table. He scanned over it with a careful eye: the tape was recently done, it hadn’t been reapplied unlike the two other boxes he received off Sharon, and it weighed more than they had too. Steve dug his fingers into the gap at the top and ripped it open.

‘What?’ he mumbled; inside was a length of white fabric, smooth and soft. Cautiously, he raised it up and let it unravel. It was a small-bodied dress with a long skirt and short sleeves. It was a christening dress, he realised and he felt his stomach drop again. The small photo he’d left on is coffee table seemed far more present than it had before.

An envelope had floated out from the material, new and neat. He pried it open and a small folded piece of paper slid out.

_‘Captain Rogers,_

_My name is Rachel. I’m Peggy Carter’s daughter-in-law. Recently, my husband was made aware of this box. Peggy left it for you. My husband and his sister were quite distraught by what’s in this box, and they were going to throw it out. My daughter and I decided to save it._

_Don’t worry, they think_ _they threw it out!_

_Rachel A B Sousa’_

Frowning, Steve put the letter to one side. He was aware Peggy had children, and they had their own children, but he’d never really asked about them; it made him uncomfortable.

Next, he pulled out a diary – old and leather-bound, like the ones he used to know – with a damaged spine but it just about held together. Inside he saw Peggy’s handwriting and his eyes alighted on one passage:

_‘…today was the funeral. We hadn’t a body to bury of course, and I can’t help but feel I have had to bury something of myself with it. Though she’s bigger now, I didn’t have a more recent photo to give and I had been holding that photograph in case…in case Howard ever did find him. Though I have no idea why he’d be alive after all this time in ice…I still hoped…’_

Steve swallowed roughly; the passages blurred as tears sprung in his eyes and he had to shut them to prevent any landing on the old paper. There were several other diaries, but he gathered them into a single pile for later. _I don’t even think I should have these_, he thought glumly. _Why has she kept them for me?_

Next were letters. None were in Peggy’s handwriting; some were signed off by ‘Emily’ and others by -

’Sarah?’ he whispered. The letter started with ‘Aunt Peggy’ every time and each were signed off with ‘love, Sarah’. 

He didn’t know Peggy’s family beyond Sharon and seeing photographs of Peggy’s children had been a gut punch. Again, he gathered them into a pile and set them aside. As he delved into the box again, he found a small package to one side. It held more letters. These weren’t as torn or damaged with age as the others had been. Lifting the plastic bag up he tilted it around, and saw strings of words in messy handwriting. It looked like a young child had written them – there were small doodles, child-like drawings around the edges.

‘_Thank you for the book on stars, Aunt Peggy. I don’t have that one!! I can’t wait to read it!_

_Love Janey xx’_

Steve chuckled, but why save them? Unless…’Oh god,’ he gasped. Shaking his head, Steve knew he had to wait for confirmation off the woman herself. Hurriedly, he found a duffel bag and placed the letters and diaries inside it; he’d have to go see her.

As he moved away, something glinted. He turned and found a photo frame, silver and untarnished at that. The oval centre held a colour image, as perfect as the day it was placed.

Steve’s heart clenched. It was a young woman with mousy brown hair held back by a white headband. Her eyes were dark brown and attractive; she wasn’t smiling but her expression was content. Her hand was under her chin as the other was crossed below on a table. She wore a red, crop top shirt, tied at the ribs, the neck dipping low to show off her décolletage and the silver necklace with a loop. Just in the frame, he spied the high waist of blue jeans.

Steve shook his head again. The silver frame joined the letters and diaries in the bag. Finally, were two photo albums. In one fell swoop, he gathered them up and forced them in to the bag too. The first photograph of the infant was caringly slid into his wallet.

Resolutely, he closed it and set his shoulders. There was only one place he could go.

* * *

Being Captain America did have perks, Steve mused. After an eighty mile drive up to Buffalo, the woman at the desk in the airport was only too happy to book him onto the next available flight to Washington. Once landing, a number of cars were available to him for hire.

As he pulled into a parking bay at the foot of Peggy’s building, Steve finally took a moment. He knew so much could change after this. He almost didn’t want to do it, but in the deepest corners of his mind he knew he’d not let it go. With a final sigh, he got out of the car and marched inside.

‘Now or never,’ he whispered to himself as he turned for the elevators. ‘Now or never.’

* * *

‘Come in.’

Steve stared at the door handle for a second before he turned it. He wondered if Peggy would remember him this time. He pushed into the room and watched as her face lit up.

‘Steve!’ she smiled, ‘I didn’t expect to see you today.’

‘Yeah, I…I was in the area an’ I wanted to see my best girl,’ he lied. Peggy gave him a once over and smiled again.

‘You still can’t lie, Steven,’ she replied, shaking her head, ‘but thank you for coming.’

Steve nodded, but he didn’t move from the foot of the bed for the seat to the side, like he normally would. He barely breathed and his eyes were downcast.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Peggy. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Who’s Sarah?’

Peggy blinked. ‘I don’t…what?’

He hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but Steve reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and slid the photo out. Carefully, he rested it on the bed.

‘Peggy,’ he gulped, ‘Peggy who is she?’

He saw her eyes glaze over with unshed tears. She lifted the photo and they fell. Steve swallowed roughly. His stomach started to churn.

‘She’s…she’s Sarah,’ Peggy whispered, ‘she’s our daughter.’

* * *

As a super soldier, Steve had suffered injuries and pain that would render most men unconscious, if not worse. He could recall the beatings he’d taken as a boy and a younger man before the war. For all of those beat-downs and the horrors of battle, nothing could compare to this pain.

He felt heat in his face yet his hands were frozen. His stomach roiled violently as the world started to spin. With measured steps, he reached the bedside chair. He felt Peggy’s watery eyes on him as he moved. He curled into himself, his shoulders dropped, his chin was on his chest and his fists clenched on his knees.

‘When?’ he said breathlessly, ‘when did you…?’

‘Be-before the last mission,’ she whispered, ‘I tried to…but the plane, I couldn’t.’

Steve raised his head slowly; his blue eyes were as fixated as lasers boring into her. ‘Red Skull’s HQ? _Then?_’ Peggy nodded shakily, rolling her chapped lips.

‘You can…do you have my diaries?’ she asked. Steve nodded. ‘I wrote letters. They were for you. If ever we found you…or for myself if we never did.’

Steve reached into the bag and pulled out the silver photo frame. ‘Is this her too?’

Peggy’s hands shook as she took it from him and a sob escaped her.

‘Yes!’ she nodded weepily, ‘that’s Sarah. She’s about 27 there. Such a fighter, she reminded me of you so much.’

Steve felt his lips twitch as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. ‘Yeah?’ he croaked, ‘she looks like you.’

Peggy hummed; her tears had not stopped. ‘Her smile was yours. Her courage was yours. She never backed down.’

Steve finally smiled, ‘Why…why haven’t you mentioned her before?’

Peggy sighed deeply. ‘I couldn’t…knowing you were alive made me so guilty. I, _we, _missed out on so much; if only we’d found you sooner! It hurt and I felt so much pain…I am _so_ sorry, Steve.’ He captured a hand before she could flail and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

‘Peggy, I forgive you,’ he said. ‘Did you raise her?’

Peggy shook her head sadly. ‘I couldn’t. I had my friend raise her, Emily. She and her husband were good people. Emily wouldn’t let me stay away from Sarah; she claimed me as her sister. I was so very selfish, I had to keep her in any way I could.’

Her tears began afresh; Steve leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her hair. ‘It was for the best.’ He leant down again and pulled out the photo albums, ‘Do you wanna go through some? Can you tell me about her?’ He pulled it open and the first photograph was young Peggy, messy hair stuck to her face holding a wrinkled newborn.

‘I’d just had her. She was born in Emily’s cottage in Hever. I went there for the last three months,’ Peggy explained, ‘Sarah Josephine Carter-Rogers, barely cried.’

Steve’s heart broke at her name. ‘You…you named her for my parents?’

‘I remember what you said, and I thought I’d lost you. I felt it was only fair.’

He couldn’t stop the tears, and he didn’t want to. ‘Thank you,’ he wept.

The photos outlined her youth, some in a school uniform, another in front of Hever Castle. ‘They lived in the shadow of that place. Sarah loved it.’

The final ones were in colour, and in the very last as a teenager, she was wearing a white and red checked summer dress and a blue headband. ‘Those were her favourite colours: red, white and blue,’ Peggy said, eying Steve.

‘Did…did she ever know about me?’ he asked.

‘I…I didn’t want to confuse her. I said to Emily if anything ever happened, I had a letter for Sarah, explaining everything. I don’t know if she ever read it,’ Peggy explained, ‘but she knew Captain America.’

‘What?’

‘Mmm, she wrote about you in university. She became something of an activist; she went to hundreds of rallies across Britain, Europe and the USA, when she moved here. She always thought that you would stand for what was right, no matter if it meant you had the shield. She once said ‘_the price of freedom is high; it always has been. Yet there’s always those willing to pay it’. _I know you said the same when SHIELD fell.’

Steve gaped at her. Peggy nearly laughed, ‘She was so very much your daughter.’ He managed to laugh with her, but the tears overcame him again. He sobbed his heart out as he went back through the photos that outlined his daughter’s childhood into early adulthood. The tears didn’t stop for an age it felt like. The emotion he held just drained out of him.

‘God Peggy,’ he sniffed, ‘I’m sorry I went down-’

‘You did what you thought was right.’

‘I know, but I’ve missed so much!’ he argued. ‘She’ll be…she was 70 a few days ago! _70! _That’s…I think that is the craziest thing: I have a 70-year-old daughter and I don’t look a day over 30- what’s wrong Peggy?’

Peggy was silent, and her lips wobbled as she clearly tried to hold back tears. ‘She…she would have been.’

Steve froze again. ‘What?’

She shook her head. More tears fell. Steve breathed in shakily, his heart twisting with it.

‘Peggy, where’s our daughter?’

Peggy gulped for air once, twice, before she could finally speak, ‘She died…24 years ago.’

* * *

Steve had been wrong. The pain of knowing he’d had a daughter was great. Finding out that she had already died before they could know each other…he was certain his world just ended before it could begin.


End file.
